


Elandinde Listener

by Heiwako



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, General fiction, Literature, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 20:49:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3910147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heiwako/pseuds/Heiwako
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elaninde was everything Arnbjorn hated - arrogant, stank of perfume, and a mage. Then why was it every time she was in the room, he couldn't ignore her? Inspired by SkyrimKinkMeme. Rated M for sexual content.</p><p>Took some liberty with this story as there are no canon werefoxes, but I figured the Sumerset Isles might have creatures unheard of in Tamriel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf

Elaninde was tall and that was the only thing about her that Arnbjorn liked. The werewolf rarely was able to look someone in the eye without practically bending in half. As an Altmer, it was natural for Elaninde to be tall. It was also natural to have a cocky smirk on her face that made Arnbjorn wish she wasn't so easy to make eye contact with. 

Ever since her first day in the Brotherhood, the Altmer Dragonborn had been exactly the type of person Arnbjorn hated. She was arrogant, smelled of cloying perfumes and oils, and was a mage. The Nord could recall the exact moment he laid eyes on her for the first time. Babette was in the middle of retelling one of her kills so the family was gathered around her to listen. 

The overwhelming scent of lilacs and jasmine assaulted Arnbjorn's nose forcing him to look away from the vampire child to Festus Krex and Gabriella. Standing between them was the new arrival, personally picked by his beloved wife Astrid. Her stance clearly indicated that she considered herself the master of the room and the others were merely guests she tolerated in her home. Instead of being the newest, Elaninde exuded an aura of mastery. Typical for her race and one of the things Arnbjorn agreed with the Stormcloaks about eliminating from Skyrim. 

Elaninde's face could only be described as vulpine, all angles and far too clever for her own good. Her skin was a light golden color common to her people with forest green eyes that the healthiest of the summer's leaves would envy. Most unusual was her hair; it was red like snowberries and fresh blood. Instead of the usual pale gold or pure white of many High Elves, Elaninde's hair flared like fire burning past her shoulders to the middle of her back. She typically kept it in a pragmatic twin bun style, but often Arnbjorn would see her sitting by the whirlpool while that damned fool brushed it faithfully. 

That was another slap in the face to the Brotherhood. Almost as soon as the Keeper arriveda huge disappointment that had been too, with Astrid discovering he was literally a mad fool who obsessed over a corpseElaninde proclaimed that she was the long-awaited Listener. Cicero had practically orgasmed on the spot. It was bad enough that the others had to suffer her attitude of being a superior race, now they must pretend to acknowledge that she had power to be the Brotherhood's savior too. 

The only good side effect was that Elaninde had Cicero in her pocket as her personal pet. The Fool doted on her constantly and she seemed to revel in the attention. Arnbjorn thought it was personally sickening to watch as the Imperial fawned over her every night by the waterfall. The little man would scurry back and forth fulfilling every whim of the much taller woman. Often he would be on one knee massaging her feet, painting her nails, or forever brushing that wild hair. 

"Why don't you ever go anywhere else, ham hock?" Arnbjorn growled. He wanted to work at his forge, but it was almost impossible. Even with the heavy clang of his hammer and the smell of melting metal, Arnbjorn could not push out the scent of oil and perfume from the elf or the high pitched constant chatter of the Fool. The werewolf briefly thought he should be grateful neither of them favored blue or he would suffer from headaches constantly. 

Both of the newcomers' clothing was exotic to say the least. Cicero was well known with his unique jesters outfit while Elaninde wore what Arnbjorn thought of as whore's clothes. Thin, wispy cloth that barely clung to toned golden flesh. Arm straps with clung to the sides while strips of skirt allowed long legs to spread out from under them hiding nothing from the imagination. For someone who came from the Summerset Isles, the High Elf gave no indication of being cold in the brisk Skyrim air. The only protection she wore against the cold was a huge red heavy woolen cloak with a hood that hid her face when she had it pulled up and she only wore that when she went out on her kills. 

"Because it pleases me to sit by the waterfall," the elf said with her cultured voice. She never seemed to get angry or frustrated, but merely slightly bored or inconvenienced at best. "I refuse to go into that greasy kitchen, the common area is for the others, and poor, dear Cicero's room is simply too cold and lonely. We prefer it here with the company of passersby of the Family. Isn't that right, my dear Fool?" 

"Oh yes, Mistress," the clown purred. He placed his head on her lap and rubbed it like a domestic dog. Arnbjorn could have barfed. 

"Go to the Alchemy room then," Arnbjorn snarled. 

"I do not think so," Elaninde said as she held up a manicured hand to examine Cicero's work. "It smells from Festus' constant spell components and Babette's alchemical reagents. We are happy here and here is where we will stay." 

"Unless the mistress wishes loyal Cicero to oil her," the clown interjected. His look was far too sly. 

"Oh, but that does sound heavenly," the elf smiled toothily. "You promise to do a thorough job?" 

"Every blessed inch of the Listener's body," Cicero swore, "just as Cicero does with Mother." 

"Oh, you flatterer," Elaninde laughed politely with her hand covering her mouth. Arnbjorn had to admit that it was a pleasant sound like the rest of her voice when she wasn't being so gods damned condescending. "Maybe later after dinner.  You know how I do not like to dress afterwards and ruin my clothes. In the meantime, finish with my hair." 

Today Cicero had adorned the hair with wild flowers. A chain created a crown and was accented with petals here and there in the cascade of hair. Elaninde leaned back into the fancy throne-like chair she had moved into the practice area for these occasions while Cicero deftly added more flowers into some elaborate pattern. Disgusted and accepting the fact he would get no work done with those two about, Arnbjorn stomped up to the planning room near the front of Sanctuary. 

"What troubles you today, husband?" Astrid said from her position by her war table. She didn't bother to turn to look at who had huffed angrily up the stairs, no one else in Sanctuary behaved in such a manner around their leader. 

"Niblet and the clown," Arnbjorn growled as he threw himself into the chair by the table. "I can't work with those two constantly lollygagging in the practice area." No matter how hard he tried, Arnbjorn could never ignore Elaninde if she was in the room. His attention was drawn to her like a moth to flame. 

"We have plenty of weapons and armor," Astrid said practically as she carefully moved pieces around the map. No one save Astrid had any idea what each piece represented, which is how the blonde liked it. "It would do you good to go out for a bit. You've been downright snappish lately." 

"I know a better way to work off stress," Arnbjorn smiled wolfishly. He stood behind his wife and ran hungry hands up her side while nuzzling her soft neck. It had been weeks since he had last lain with Astrid. Normally they rutted at least three or four times a week; a fact that made the others grateful their leaders had a private room away from the rest of Sanctuary. Astrid wasn't a screamer like some women, but Arnbjorn always left her more than satisfied. 

"Not today," Astrid said. She shifted her position so she was away from her husband. Arnbjorn frowned. He didn't care to be ignored even by his wife who he loved more than anything and he was getting tired of her always putting him off. "I want to, I swear I do, but we have so much going on right now. This assassination is the most important thing the Brotherhood has ever undertaken and I am determined to get it done right. We would have Skyrim in our grasp again!" 

After proclaiming herself Listener, Elaninde had said the Night Mother had given her a contract. Ignoring Astrid's command to wait, the Altmer immediately rode to the ruins of Volunruud to meet the contact, a man named Amaund Motierre. He had told her he wanted the Emperor dead with a few extra bonus kills. He had provided more than enough gold to grab their attention for a retainer fee and with the promise of more when the job was completed. 

Astrid started pulling in every favor she had managed to accumulate over the years to get this job done with as much flair and glory as possible. The last time an Emperor had been assassinated was over two hundred years ago with Uriel Septim and that particular honor had gone to the gods damned Mythic Dawn, a huge blow to the Brotherhood's pride. 

"I suppose I could go on patrol," Arnbjorn said grudgingly. There were few contracts available since Nazir was focusing on finding people who owed them favors instead of scraping up rumors of petitioners performing the Black Sacrament. With the Night Mother talking again, everyone had expected for her to give them more contracts, but so far the only one she had deemed to give was the one for the Emperor. 

"Sounds good," Astrid said absentmindedly. "If you can, bring back some fresh meat. None of that bear or sabre cat. Good elk would be a nice change." 

"Sure," Arnbjorn grumbled as he left. Astrid didn't even turn to say goodbye. Arnbjorn could remember a time when she clung to him with hugs and kisses any time he even mentioned the possibility of not being by her side. But that had been when she was young and not the leader of the last Sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood in all of Tamriel. 

It did feel good to be outside. The crisp autumn air burned Arnbjorn's sensitive nose pleasantly. The Nord moved away from the Black Door and to a niche in the ground that he had made years ago. He quickly shucked his clothes and left them hidden in the earth for when he returned. Now unrestrained by leather and cloth, Arnbjorn released the beast. 

Skin tore and bone stretched. Sharp canine teeth ripped through gums replacing the pathetic blunt human ones. Claws lengthened into killing knives ready to rend and slice tender flesh. Arnbjorn's senses exploded as a new spectrum of color, smell, and sound was made available to him. Falling to all fours, the werewolf ran through the forest marking it as his own. 

Life as an assassin was good; life as a werewolf was better. Many children of Hircine didn't remember their time as wolves when they first transformed. The first experience was the most intense and pure, much like sex. Too many emotions and sensations to be properly recalled and categorized, but many would give their soul to feel that way again. 

Arnbjorn had lived with the curse of lycanthropy for decades, ever since he had been so graciously inducted into the inner Circle of the Companions. He had long mastered his control of his wolf form so that he remembered everything he did and often was able to think as a man if necessary. Not that he wanted to; it was a joy to be a wolf both in body and spirit, but sometimes one needed the clarity of humanity to get a job done. 

The moons were high in the sky as Arnbjorn ran. He reached a cliff and stopped to howl his dominance at the stars. To his surprise, Arnbjorn heard a responding howl. It was too sharp to be a wolf's cry, but too intelligent to be that of a normal animal. The wolf growled and ran towards the direction the howl came from to investigate. 

The scent of female canine hung heavy in the air when Arnbjorn got to the forest clearing. Arnbjorn snorted heavily at the musky smell. Trees were torn up from claw marks indicating the female's claimed territory. Arnbjorn hiked a leg and let loose a stream of hot urine to reclaim the place as his. 

This was not the first time Arnbjorn had to fight for the land around Sanctuary from other wild creatures. There had been other werewolves in the past whose pelts the Nord had kept as tokens. Yet, there was something different about this female. Her scent and call weren't right. Not wrong, but different. 

Nose low to the ground, Arnbjorn moved to follow the scent. Tufts of russet fur were other marks of claiming territory. Brow furrowed, Arnbjorn wondered how this female had managed to so thoroughly mark this land without him noticing.  As he had grown older, he did tend to spend more time in Sanctuary at his forge, but he was no Alpha male whose muzzle was so gray he had to step down for the next youth. 

The trail led to a burrow obviously recently dug. Arnbjorn stuck his nose into the opening to get a better sniff. His body was halfway into the hole when suddenly pain from tooth and claw raked down Arnbjorn's back. 

Fuck! The trail had been a trap and he had blindly walked into it like a pup with its eyes closed. Large paws dug against the earth trying to escape the rending claws and tearing teeth, but the hole was too small for his large form and it was impossible to back up without exposing his vulnerable neck or stomach. There was only one thing to do. 

Arnbjorn gritted his teeth and reverted to human form. The cold night air slapped his bare human skin, but it was better than standing there while the female tore him to pieces. Before the other creature could keep attacking, Arnbjorn threw himself deeper into the burrow. Loose earth tumbled under his hands and bare feet, but he made good time as he half crawled deeper into the earth. The Nord desperately hoped that the tunnel would widen into a proper den and was not just a half-dug lure to trap him indefinitely. 

It was completely dark in here with only human eyes to see. His senses may have been magnified with the werewolf blood, but there were limitations to their ability with a human body. Arnbjorn could still feel the cool, wet earth and smell the musk of the female, but he could sense little else. Unless you counted his ragged breath and the huff of the female hunting him. 

Arnbjorn almost yelled out in surprise when he placed a hand before him and found nothing but air. Without anything to support his weight, the Nord found himself sliding forward and down an incline for about fifteen feet. It looked like there was a den here after all for it wasn't just packed or loose earth under Arnbjorn's feet. He could feel a combination of straw and furs. 

The assassin was already halfway through transforming back into wolf form when the female landed nearby. Arnbjorn's eyesight had improved enough he could make out her red fur accented with a white undercoat and tip on her tail. A werefox? Those existed? 

The fox gave a shrill bark before launching at Arnbjorn. He sidestepped the creature as he finished his transformation. He howled laughter as he grabbed the smaller canine in his huge paws. Now that he wasn't trapped and unaware, she was his! Another pelt would join his collection as well as a bragging story for the others. 

The red fox flipped onto her back and raked her back claws against Arnbjorn's chest as he tried to wring her neck. The Nord used his heavy weight to pin her down so she couldn't continue her attack. As the female bucked under him, Arnbjorn realized something. 

She wasn't trying to kill or maim him. This wasn't about territory; it was about mating! The bitch was in heat. The epiphany made Arnbjorn breathe in the female's scent and it almost drove him wild. He had gone too long without feeling a female and in his wolf form his mind was at its most primitive. 

For a brief second, Arnbjorn's human side almost won. "Astrid!" he screamed, but the beast side mentally backhanded him into unconsciousness. 

The wolf pinned the fox easily so her claws would not tear as he pushed his muzzle into her crotch. He breathed deep of her sex reveling in the musky tang of desire. A pink tongue darted forward tasting and wanting more. The female barked her approval and thrust her hips against his mouth. 

Arnbjorn flipped the female onto her stomach so she was presented to him. She swished her tail coyly inviting him forward. The wolf sank his fangs into the back of her neck grasping her tightly before roughly pushing into her. The heat and tightness of her body almost undid him immediately. It had been a long time for him as a man and much, much longer as a wolf. There had been no one but Astrid since they had married. But Arnbjorn was a Nord and Nords never do anything half-assed. 

With his teeth still firmly holding the scruff, Arnbjorn grabbed the female's hips with both paws. She panted in pain and pleasure as he rammed into her as deeply as possible. Wolves don't worry about the comfort of their partner; they only had to worry about strength and control. It was intoxicating to not have to think about if his pleasure was harmful to his partner. 

As Arnbjorn raked and thrust, the fox arched her back to meet him. She barked and screamed her pleasure as blood ran down her neck from his bites and fur flew from his claws in her sides. Her own claws tore grooves in the earth, scarring the ground below them. 

When he couldn't take it anymore, Arnbjorn released his jaw from the fox and howled as he spilled his seed. He felt the female tighten under him as he finished. She collapsed and he fell with her. The two of them were a tangle of limbs and fur onto the straw strewn floor. Arnbjorn pulled the fox into a possessive hug and licked her face, one final act of marking as his own, before he passed out. 

 

***

 

It was morning when Arnbjorn woke. There were weak rays of light coming into the den from above and gave just enough light to see by. The Nord was stiff and sore. Even with his amazing regenerative powers, other lycanthropes could leave lasting scars and wounds. The female hadn't been trying to kill him, but her attacks on his flank still smarted if dully. 

Speaking of the female, this was his chance to see who exactly it was. Maybe she was a villager from Morthal or one of the seemingly endless adventurers who seemed to find their way into Skyrim. Arnbjorn rolled onto his side and gasped. 

"Fuck me," was all Arnbjorn could manage to say. 

"I believe I did just that, my darling," replied the refined tones of none other than Elaninde. The High Elf was casually lying on her side completely naked and comfortable in the den she had made. Her wild red hair flowed around her like a stole while one lazy manicured hand ran lazily up and down her bare flesh. The other hand propped up her head as she rested on her elbow. "However, if you are ready for another round, I am more than eager." 

With seeming uncaring, Elaninde straddled Arnbjorn's hips. The soft whisper of her skin against his caused a reaction Arnbjorn wanted to stop. It was bad enough to have betrayed Astrid while a wolf, but that was at least forgivable. This would and could never be! 

"Stop," he growled. His calloused hands grasped the soft, supple skin of Elaninde's hips. "I'm married." 

"Please," the Altmer snorted daintily, "just because you are stronger as a wolf does not mean you have any say as a man." Her fine boned hand slid between them so she could wrap her fingers around his erect member. Although her touch was cool, there was quickly heat as she slowly stroked Arnbjorn's cock. "If Astrid wants to fight for you, I welcome the challenge. It's about time she showed interest in you again. And if she will not, then you should at least enjoy the attention of someone. Do you not deserve it after so many years of loyalty and dedication to that woman?" 

It was wolf mentality or at least that of the beast. Arnbjorn wanted to argue, but words had never been his weapon and he had embraced the beast blood too long to deny its simple logic now. Instead he took in the appearance of the Altmer. 

From this angle, Arnbjorn couldn't help but admire the elf's full breasts sway as she hovered over him. Although she usually wore the barest of clothes, they had well hidden exactly how full of a figure she had, especially for an elf. Her fox blood had given her a much more fit form than her mage training deserved. 

"I suppose it makes sense why you wear the clothes you do. Loose flowing clothes would be easier to change out of and less likely to tear if you couldn't remove them in time," Arnbjorn said trying to control his breathing. He would not give her the slightest reason to think she could seduce him. The only problem was since he was focusing on his breathing, Arnbjorn was breathing in Elaninde's musk and it was exacerbating the problem. Without all the perfumes, she smelled like den and wild and it was intoxicating. "But why the damn perfumes?" 

"Do you think I enjoy smelling like wet dog?" the elf sneered. "I would not tolerate guards casually mentioning it to me like I was some common stable girl. Besides, I like how my jester's ointments smell for they remind me of home and court." 

"The fool?" Arnbjorn snorted. 

"Oh yes, especially that he is a fool," Elaninde's green eyes sparkled as she settled her weight onto Arnbjorn. The pressure of her against him felt good. All it would take was the barest of motions and he would be in her instead of against her. "Every proper court has a fool to speak what no one else dares. As the leader of the Dark Brotherhood, I desire only every consideration." 

"Astrid leads!" Arnbjorn spat. 

"For now," Elaninde admitted. She gently took Arnbjorn's hands from her hips and placed them on her breasts. She slowly ground against Arnbjorn's cock so it was soon covered in dampness. Her breathing deepened as she pleasured herself against him. 

Arnbjorn wanted to stop her, but he didn't trust that if he did move he wouldn't end up doing exactly what she wanted. She was much too close and her scent filled him too completely. The bitch was still in heat, her lust not sated from their fucking. The Nord hated the sound he made in his throat was so close to a whimper. 

"Oh yes, Astrid is the boss for now," Elaninde said as she ran her red lacquered nails down Arnbjorn's skin. The skin reddened from the pressure but did not break. "She will be allowed that privilege until I am ready to claim my rightful place as master. When that day comes, she may be allowed to step aside and follow me as the pack demands or she will fall under my claws. 

"There is only one thing you must learn before that," Elaninde said as she leaned close to Arnbjorn's ear. "I always get what I want, even if I have to take it." The elf shifted so instead of rubbing against the Nord, she was riding him. 

Arnbjorn gasped as he slid into the elf. His hands clamped down on her breasts, but this only seemed to delight Elaninde as she barked out her tinkling laughter. No matter of bucking shook her; instead she wrapped her legs tighter around his hips as if he was an untamed stallion she planned to break. He was horrified that he had allowed himself to be tricked into this, but at the same time he wanted it and more. 

"If you want someone to fuck, why not your little Imperial toy?" Arnbjorn snarled as he suddenly sat up. He clamped his hungry mouth around a nipple and started licking and nipping. 

"Cicero? Please," Elaninde laughed throwing her head back. "I would break him so hard he would never walk again. No, I need a strong man like you. We are alike, you and I. Both bound by beast blood. I have desired you since I saw you and knew what you were. I assure you the hunt has been satisfactory." 

"You haven't caught me yet," Arnbjorn retorted. He grabbed the elf's hair and pulled it back so he could bite along her neckline. "I am still Astrid's." 

"So he says as he ruts with me," Elaninde chided, "and rather eagerly at that." 

"You'll never have my heart," Arnbjorn said defiantly. "That will always be Astrid's." 

"Funny," Elaninde said. She grabbed Arnbjorn's jaw so he had to look up at her. She ran her nails along his jawline before kissing him roughly with tongue and tooth, "I do not seem to care. You will continue to lay with me as you are now. Not because you particularly want to, but because you need to. Because you are a beast by nature and every dog need a master." 

 

***

"Astrid, I need to speak with you." 

The blonde woman didn't recognize the voice that just spoke, which was very strange. Normally she could tell who was approaching her by their footsteps, the clank of armor, or even their breathing.  There had been no indication anyone was in the room until the newcomer spoke. 

Astrid turned and was surprised to see Cicero standing in the doorway to the planning room. The jester was holding his cap in his hands and twisting it restlessly. Astrid almost snapped at him for interrupting her until she noticed that the Imperial's face was solemn for the first time since she had met him. 

"What is it, Keeper?" she asked suddenly feeling a need for formality. It had been the right thing to do simply for the smile of joy on Cicero's face. 

"I keep the Tenets, you know I do," Cicero insisted. "That is why I am here. They must be honored by everyone, EVERYONE! Cicero spoke with the Listener and she did not listen. So faithful Cicero speaks to Astrid." 

"Out with it," Astrid snapped. She felt nervous with Cicero acting so oddly, at least for him. Talking of the Tenets meant he was likely to speak about how she needed to swear herself to the Night Mother and Astrid had no patience for that today. "I am very busy." 

"You have been betrayed," Cicero said looking miserable. 

"By who?" Astrid whispered. Betrayal had always been her biggest fear. When she had caught Cicero whispering alone in the Night Mother's chamber, she had been unable to sleep until she had found out who his confidante was. Imagine her embarrassment when it was revealed that it was only the Night Mother and the very person she had sent to investigate had turned against her by claiming to be the fabled Listener. 

"Elaninde.," Cicero whispered. 

"I knew it!" Astrid crowed. 

"And Arnbjorn," the jester finished. 

"Get out!" Astrid yelled. She grabbed a nearby bowl and threw it at the redhead. "Get out with your lies and tricks, clown!" 

"Cicero only tells the truth, no matter how much the Pretender wishes to believe otherwise!" Cicero yelled. He danced about avoiding each object hurled at him. "If you don't believe him, then go to the forge and see for yourself!" The jester stuck his tongue out at Astrid and tumbled away laughing madly. 

Astrid followed ready to toss more items at the clown, but he was gone having fled up the stairs. Astrid turned to the downward stairs to see for herself what Cicero was babbling about. No doubt he had either misconstrued an innocent conversation or his mad mind had invented something fantastical or he was just trying her patience. 

Astrid's steps came to an abrupt halt when she came into the open area. In the forge area, on top of Arnbjorn's workbench was Elaninde. The High Elf was sitting with her head thrown back and her legs wide open. Kneeling between them was Arnbjorn licking that bitch's thighs! 

Rage coursed through Astrid as she watched her husband's infidelity. Her hand gripped her Blade of Woe ready to use it on the both of them. Logic ruled and Astrid stepped back. On wobbly legs, she managed to walk back up to the stairs to her planning room. 

Things had been perfect before that elf came to Sanctuary. Before the Keeper and the Night Mother! Why did things have to change? Astrid would make it so everything would go back to the way it was before, when she ruled and everyone followed. 

With a shaking hand, the Nord picked up a piece of paper that held the personal information of the leader of the Penitus Oculatus  Commander Maro. She would contact the man and make a deal with him. After she made sure he would be cooperative. The man had a son who was touring Skyrim to secure the Emperor's tour of the Holds. Maybe if he met an untimely death by the hands of a certain arrogant Altmer bitch, then Commander Maro would be more than willing to play ball. 

Then Astrid would be rid of the betrayer and everything would be fine again. There could be only one alpha female in this den of killers and it would be Astrid. She was willing to bet her life on it.


	2. Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf [heiwako.deviantart.com/art/Red…](http://heiwako.deviantart.com/art/Red-Riding-Hood-and-the-Big-Bad-Wolf-301137798)  
> This story makes this an official AU of my main line and there are several scenes that are call backs to it. However, it is fine as a standalone.
> 
> Inspired by Skyrim Kink Meme - This Anon wants to go old school - porn without penetration. Maybe it's F!DB's time of the lunar cycle, she might have the proverbial headache or she's recovering from injuries, or just plain doesn't want to be penetrated because that's just how she feels tonight.
> 
> But she loves her man and he loves her, and so there is touching. Lots and lots of touching. I want a fic that's pure foreplay, Anons. I want much kissing, stroking and/or scratching, hair tugging (come on, these Nords have such fucktuggable hair, I need to see hair!love in here!), cuddling, fingering, frottage, hand jobs, blow jobs... Orgasms aplenty, please, good Anons, and lots and lots of intimacy.
> 
> Next part: [fav.me/d5wod7p](http://fav.me/d5wod7p)

Elaninde was tall and that was the only thing about her that Arnbjorn liked. The werewolf rarely was able to look someone in the eye without practically bending in half. As an Altmer, it was natural for Elaninde to be tall. It was also natural to have a cocky smirk on her face that made Arnbjorn wish she wasn't so easy to make eye contact with. 

Ever since her first day in the Brotherhood, the Altmer Dragonborn had been exactly the type of person Arnbjorn hated. She was arrogant, smelled of cloying perfumes and oils, and was a mage. The Nord could recall the exact moment he laid eyes on her for the first time. Babette was in the middle of retelling one of her kills so the family was gathered around her to listen. 

The overwhelming scent of lilacs and jasmine assaulted Arnbjorn's nose forcing him to look away from the vampire child to Festus Krex and Gabriella. Standing between them was the new arrival, personally picked by his beloved wife Astrid. Her stance clearly indicated that she considered herself the master of the room and the others were merely guests she tolerated in her home. Instead of being the newest, Elaninde exuded an aura of mastery. Typical for her race and one of the things Arnbjorn agreed with the Stormcloaks about eliminating from Skyrim. 

Elaninde's face could only be described as vulpine, all angles and far too clever for her own good. Her skin was a light golden color common to her people with forest green eyes that the healthiest of the summer's leaves would envy. Most unusual was her hair; it was red like snowberries and fresh blood. Instead of the usual pale gold or pure white of many High Elves, Elaninde's hair flared like fire burning past her shoulders to the middle of her back. She typically kept it in a pragmatic twin bun style, but often Arnbjorn would see her sitting by the whirlpool while that damned fool brushed it faithfully. 

That was another slap in the face to the Brotherhood. Almost as soon as the Keeper arriveda huge disappointment that had been too, with Astrid discovering he was literally a mad fool who obsessed over a corpseElaninde proclaimed that she was the long-awaited Listener. Cicero had practically orgasmed on the spot. It was bad enough that the others had to suffer her attitude of being a superior race, now they must pretend to acknowledge that she had power to be the Brotherhood's savior too. 

The only good side effect was that Elaninde had Cicero in her pocket as her personal pet. The Fool doted on her constantly and she seemed to revel in the attention. Arnbjorn thought it was personally sickening to watch as the Imperial fawned over her every night by the waterfall. The little man would scurry back and forth fulfilling every whim of the much taller woman. Often he would be on one knee massaging her feet, painting her nails, or forever brushing that wild hair. 

"Why don't you ever go anywhere else, ham hock?" Arnbjorn growled. He wanted to work at his forge, but it was almost impossible. Even with the heavy clang of his hammer and the smell of melting metal, Arnbjorn could not push out the scent of oil and perfume from the elf or the high pitched constant chatter of the Fool. The werewolf briefly thought he should be grateful neither of them favored blue or he would suffer from headaches constantly. 

Both of the newcomers' clothing was exotic to say the least. Cicero was well known with his unique jesters outfit while Elaninde wore what Arnbjorn thought of as whore's clothes. Thin, wispy cloth that barely clung to toned golden flesh. Arm straps with clung to the sides while strips of skirt allowed long legs to spread out from under them hiding nothing from the imagination. For someone who came from the Summerset Isles, the High Elf gave no indication of being cold in the brisk Skyrim air. The only protection she wore against the cold was a huge red heavy woolen cloak with a hood that hid her face when she had it pulled up and she only wore that when she went out on her kills. 

"Because it pleases me to sit by the waterfall," the elf said with her cultured voice. She never seemed to get angry or frustrated, but merely slightly bored or inconvenienced at best. "I refuse to go into that greasy kitchen, the common area is for the others, and poor, dear Cicero's room is simply too cold and lonely. We prefer it here with the company of passersby of the Family. Isn't that right, my dear Fool?" 

"Oh yes, Mistress," the clown purred. He placed his head on her lap and rubbed it like a domestic dog. Arnbjorn could have barfed. 

"Go to the Alchemy room then," Arnbjorn snarled. 

"I do not think so," Elaninde said as she held up a manicured hand to examine Cicero's work. "It smells from Festus' constant spell components and Babette's alchemical reagents. We are happy here and here is where we will stay." 

"Unless the mistress wishes loyal Cicero to oil her," the clown interjected. His look was far too sly. 

"Oh, but that does sound heavenly," the elf smiled toothily. "You promise to do a thorough job?" 

"Every blessed inch of the Listener's body," Cicero swore, "just as Cicero does with Mother." 

"Oh, you flatterer," Elaninde laughed politely with her hand covering her mouth. Arnbjorn had to admit that it was a pleasant sound like the rest of her voice when she wasn't being so gods damned condescending. "Maybe later after dinner.  You know how I do not like to dress afterwards and ruin my clothes. In the meantime, finish with my hair." 

Today Cicero had adorned the hair with wild flowers. A chain created a crown and was accented with petals here and there in the cascade of hair. Elaninde leaned back into the fancy throne-like chair she had moved into the practice area for these occasions while Cicero deftly added more flowers into some elaborate pattern. Disgusted and accepting the fact he would get no work done with those two about, Arnbjorn stomped up to the planning room near the front of Sanctuary. 

"What troubles you today, husband?" Astrid said from her position by her war table. She didn't bother to turn to look at who had huffed angrily up the stairs, no one else in Sanctuary behaved in such a manner around their leader. 

"Niblet and the clown," Arnbjorn growled as he threw himself into the chair by the table. "I can't work with those two constantly lollygagging in the practice area." No matter how hard he tried, Arnbjorn could never ignore Elaninde if she was in the room. His attention was drawn to her like a moth to flame. 

"We have plenty of weapons and armor," Astrid said practically as she carefully moved pieces around the map. No one save Astrid had any idea what each piece represented, which is how the blonde liked it. "It would do you good to go out for a bit. You've been downright snappish lately." 

"I know a better way to work off stress," Arnbjorn smiled wolfishly. He stood behind his wife and ran hungry hands up her side while nuzzling her soft neck. It had been weeks since he had last lain with Astrid. Normally they rutted at least three or four times a week; a fact that made the others grateful their leaders had a private room away from the rest of Sanctuary. Astrid wasn't a screamer like some women, but Arnbjorn always left her more than satisfied. 

"Not today," Astrid said. She shifted her position so she was away from her husband. Arnbjorn frowned. He didn't care to be ignored even by his wife who he loved more than anything and he was getting tired of her always putting him off. "I want to, I swear I do, but we have so much going on right now. This assassination is the most important thing the Brotherhood has ever undertaken and I am determined to get it done right. We would have Skyrim in our grasp again!" 

After proclaiming herself Listener, Elaninde had said the Night Mother had given her a contract. Ignoring Astrid's command to wait, the Altmer immediately rode to the ruins of Volunruud to meet the contact, a man named Amaund Motierre. He had told her he wanted the Emperor dead with a few extra bonus kills. He had provided more than enough gold to grab their attention for a retainer fee and with the promise of more when the job was completed. 

Astrid started pulling in every favor she had managed to accumulate over the years to get this job done with as much flair and glory as possible. The last time an Emperor had been assassinated was over two hundred years ago with Uriel Septim and that particular honor had gone to the gods damned Mythic Dawn, a huge blow to the Brotherhood's pride. 

"I suppose I could go on patrol," Arnbjorn said grudgingly. There were few contracts available since Nazir was focusing on finding people who owed them favors instead of scraping up rumors of petitioners performing the Black Sacrament. With the Night Mother talking again, everyone had expected for her to give them more contracts, but so far the only one she had deemed to give was the one for the Emperor. 

"Sounds good," Astrid said absentmindedly. "If you can, bring back some fresh meat. None of that bear or sabre cat. Good elk would be a nice change." 

"Sure," Arnbjorn grumbled as he left. Astrid didn't even turn to say goodbye. Arnbjorn could remember a time when she clung to him with hugs and kisses any time he even mentioned the possibility of not being by her side. But that had been when she was young and not the leader of the last Sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood in all of Tamriel. 

It did feel good to be outside. The crisp autumn air burned Arnbjorn's sensitive nose pleasantly. The Nord moved away from the Black Door and to a niche in the ground that he had made years ago. He quickly shucked his clothes and left them hidden in the earth for when he returned. Now unrestrained by leather and cloth, Arnbjorn released the beast. 

Skin tore and bone stretched. Sharp canine teeth ripped through gums replacing the pathetic blunt human ones. Claws lengthened into killing knives ready to rend and slice tender flesh. Arnbjorn's senses exploded as a new spectrum of color, smell, and sound was made available to him. Falling to all fours, the werewolf ran through the forest marking it as his own. 

Life as an assassin was good; life as a werewolf was better. Many children of Hircine didn't remember their time as wolves when they first transformed. The first experience was the most intense and pure, much like sex. Too many emotions and sensations to be properly recalled and categorized, but many would give their soul to feel that way again. 

Arnbjorn had lived with the curse of lycanthropy for decades, ever since he had been so graciously inducted into the inner Circle of the Companions. He had long mastered his control of his wolf form so that he remembered everything he did and often was able to think as a man if necessary. Not that he wanted to; it was a joy to be a wolf both in body and spirit, but sometimes one needed the clarity of humanity to get a job done. 

The moons were high in the sky as Arnbjorn ran. He reached a cliff and stopped to howl his dominance at the stars. To his surprise, Arnbjorn heard a responding howl. It was too sharp to be a wolf's cry, but too intelligent to be that of a normal animal. The wolf growled and ran towards the direction the howl came from to investigate. 

The scent of female canine hung heavy in the air when Arnbjorn got to the forest clearing. Arnbjorn snorted heavily at the musky smell. Trees were torn up from claw marks indicating the female's claimed territory. Arnbjorn hiked a leg and let loose a stream of hot urine to reclaim the place as his. 

This was not the first time Arnbjorn had to fight for the land around Sanctuary from other wild creatures. There had been other werewolves in the past whose pelts the Nord had kept as tokens. Yet, there was something different about this female. Her scent and call weren't right. Not wrong, but different. 

Nose low to the ground, Arnbjorn moved to follow the scent. Tufts of russet fur were other marks of claiming territory. Brow furrowed, Arnbjorn wondered how this female had managed to so thoroughly mark this land without him noticing.  As he had grown older, he did tend to spend more time in Sanctuary at his forge, but he was no Alpha male whose muzzle was so gray he had to step down for the next youth. 

The trail led to a burrow obviously recently dug. Arnbjorn stuck his nose into the opening to get a better sniff. His body was halfway into the hole when suddenly pain from tooth and claw raked down Arnbjorn's back. 

Fuck! The trail had been a trap and he had blindly walked into it like a pup with its eyes closed. Large paws dug against the earth trying to escape the rending claws and tearing teeth, but the hole was too small for his large form and it was impossible to back up without exposing his vulnerable neck or stomach. There was only one thing to do. 

Arnbjorn gritted his teeth and reverted to human form. The cold night air slapped his bare human skin, but it was better than standing there while the female tore him to pieces. Before the other creature could keep attacking, Arnbjorn threw himself deeper into the burrow. Loose earth tumbled under his hands and bare feet, but he made good time as he half crawled deeper into the earth. The Nord desperately hoped that the tunnel would widen into a proper den and was not just a half-dug lure to trap him indefinitely. 

It was completely dark in here with only human eyes to see. His senses may have been magnified with the werewolf blood, but there were limitations to their ability with a human body. Arnbjorn could still feel the cool, wet earth and smell the musk of the female, but he could sense little else. Unless you counted his ragged breath and the huff of the female hunting him. 

Arnbjorn almost yelled out in surprise when he placed a hand before him and found nothing but air. Without anything to support his weight, the Nord found himself sliding forward and down an incline for about fifteen feet. It looked like there was a den here after all for it wasn't just packed or loose earth under Arnbjorn's feet. He could feel a combination of straw and furs. 

The assassin was already halfway through transforming back into wolf form when the female landed nearby. Arnbjorn's eyesight had improved enough he could make out her red fur accented with a white undercoat and tip on her tail. A werefox? Those existed? 

The fox gave a shrill bark before launching at Arnbjorn. He sidestepped the creature as he finished his transformation. He howled laughter as he grabbed the smaller canine in his huge paws. Now that he wasn't trapped and unaware, she was his! Another pelt would join his collection as well as a bragging story for the others. 

The red fox flipped onto her back and raked her back claws against Arnbjorn's chest as he tried to wring her neck. The Nord used his heavy weight to pin her down so she couldn't continue her attack. As the female bucked under him, Arnbjorn realized something. 

She wasn't trying to kill or maim him. This wasn't about territory; it was about mating! The bitch was in heat. The epiphany made Arnbjorn breathe in the female's scent and it almost drove him wild. He had gone too long without feeling a female and in his wolf form his mind was at its most primitive. 

For a brief second, Arnbjorn's human side almost won. "Astrid!" he screamed, but the beast side mentally backhanded him into unconsciousness. 

The wolf pinned the fox easily so her claws would not tear as he pushed his muzzle into her crotch. He breathed deep of her sex reveling in the musky tang of desire. A pink tongue darted forward tasting and wanting more. The female barked her approval and thrust her hips against his mouth. 

Arnbjorn flipped the female onto her stomach so she was presented to him. She swished her tail coyly inviting him forward. The wolf sank his fangs into the back of her neck grasping her tightly before roughly pushing into her. The heat and tightness of her body almost undid him immediately. It had been a long time for him as a man and much, much longer as a wolf. There had been no one but Astrid since they had married. But Arnbjorn was a Nord and Nords never do anything half-assed. 

With his teeth still firmly holding the scruff, Arnbjorn grabbed the female's hips with both paws. She panted in pain and pleasure as he rammed into her as deeply as possible. Wolves don't worry about the comfort of their partner; they only had to worry about strength and control. It was intoxicating to not have to think about if his pleasure was harmful to his partner. 

As Arnbjorn raked and thrust, the fox arched her back to meet him. She barked and screamed her pleasure as blood ran down her neck from his bites and fur flew from his claws in her sides. Her own claws tore grooves in the earth, scarring the ground below them. 

When he couldn't take it anymore, Arnbjorn released his jaw from the fox and howled as he spilled his seed. He felt the female tighten under him as he finished. She collapsed and he fell with her. The two of them were a tangle of limbs and fur onto the straw strewn floor. Arnbjorn pulled the fox into a possessive hug and licked her face, one final act of marking as his own, before he passed out. 

 

***

 

It was morning when Arnbjorn woke. There were weak rays of light coming into the den from above and gave just enough light to see by. The Nord was stiff and sore. Even with his amazing regenerative powers, other lycanthropes could leave lasting scars and wounds. The female hadn't been trying to kill him, but her attacks on his flank still smarted if dully. 

Speaking of the female, this was his chance to see who exactly it was. Maybe she was a villager from Morthal or one of the seemingly endless adventurers who seemed to find their way into Skyrim. Arnbjorn rolled onto his side and gasped. 

"Fuck me," was all Arnbjorn could manage to say. 

"I believe I did just that, my darling," replied the refined tones of none other than Elaninde. The High Elf was casually lying on her side completely naked and comfortable in the den she had made. Her wild red hair flowed around her like a stole while one lazy manicured hand ran lazily up and down her bare flesh. The other hand propped up her head as she rested on her elbow. "However, if you are ready for another round, I am more than eager." 

With seeming uncaring, Elaninde straddled Arnbjorn's hips. The soft whisper of her skin against his caused a reaction Arnbjorn wanted to stop. It was bad enough to have betrayed Astrid while a wolf, but that was at least forgivable. This would and could never be! 

"Stop," he growled. His calloused hands grasped the soft, supple skin of Elaninde's hips. "I'm married." 

"Please," the Altmer snorted daintily, "just because you are stronger as a wolf does not mean you have any say as a man." Her fine boned hand slid between them so she could wrap her fingers around his erect member. Although her touch was cool, there was quickly heat as she slowly stroked Arnbjorn's cock. "If Astrid wants to fight for you, I welcome the challenge. It's about time she showed interest in you again. And if she will not, then you should at least enjoy the attention of someone. Do you not deserve it after so many years of loyalty and dedication to that woman?" 

It was wolf mentality or at least that of the beast. Arnbjorn wanted to argue, but words had never been his weapon and he had embraced the beast blood too long to deny its simple logic now. Instead he took in the appearance of the Altmer. 

From this angle, Arnbjorn couldn't help but admire the elf's full breasts sway as she hovered over him. Although she usually wore the barest of clothes, they had well hidden exactly how full of a figure she had, especially for an elf. Her fox blood had given her a much more fit form than her mage training deserved. 

"I suppose it makes sense why you wear the clothes you do. Loose flowing clothes would be easier to change out of and less likely to tear if you couldn't remove them in time," Arnbjorn said trying to control his breathing. He would not give her the slightest reason to think she could seduce him. The only problem was since he was focusing on his breathing, Arnbjorn was breathing in Elaninde's musk and it was exacerbating the problem. Without all the perfumes, she smelled like den and wild and it was intoxicating. "But why the damn perfumes?" 

"Do you think I enjoy smelling like wet dog?" the elf sneered. "I would not tolerate guards casually mentioning it to me like I was some common stable girl. Besides, I like how my jester's ointments smell for they remind me of home and court." 

"The fool?" Arnbjorn snorted. 

"Oh yes, especially that he is a fool," Elaninde's green eyes sparkled as she settled her weight onto Arnbjorn. The pressure of her against him felt good. All it would take was the barest of motions and he would be in her instead of against her. "Every proper court has a fool to speak what no one else dares. As the leader of the Dark Brotherhood, I desire only every consideration." 

"Astrid leads!" Arnbjorn spat. 

"For now," Elaninde admitted. She gently took Arnbjorn's hands from her hips and placed them on her breasts. She slowly ground against Arnbjorn's cock so it was soon covered in dampness. Her breathing deepened as she pleasured herself against him. 

Arnbjorn wanted to stop her, but he didn't trust that if he did move he wouldn't end up doing exactly what she wanted. She was much too close and her scent filled him too completely. The bitch was still in heat, her lust not sated from their fucking. The Nord hated the sound he made in his throat was so close to a whimper. 

"Oh yes, Astrid is the boss for now," Elaninde said as she ran her red lacquered nails down Arnbjorn's skin. The skin reddened from the pressure but did not break. "She will be allowed that privilege until I am ready to claim my rightful place as master. When that day comes, she may be allowed to step aside and follow me as the pack demands or she will fall under my claws. 

"There is only one thing you must learn before that," Elaninde said as she leaned close to Arnbjorn's ear. "I always get what I want, even if I have to take it." The elf shifted so instead of rubbing against the Nord, she was riding him. 

Arnbjorn gasped as he slid into the elf. His hands clamped down on her breasts, but this only seemed to delight Elaninde as she barked out her tinkling laughter. No matter of bucking shook her; instead she wrapped her legs tighter around his hips as if he was an untamed stallion she planned to break. He was horrified that he had allowed himself to be tricked into this, but at the same time he wanted it and more. 

"If you want someone to fuck, why not your little Imperial toy?" Arnbjorn snarled as he suddenly sat up. He clamped his hungry mouth around a nipple and started licking and nipping. 

"Cicero? Please," Elaninde laughed throwing her head back. "I would break him so hard he would never walk again. No, I need a strong man like you. We are alike, you and I. Both bound by beast blood. I have desired you since I saw you and knew what you were. I assure you the hunt has been satisfactory." 

"You haven't caught me yet," Arnbjorn retorted. He grabbed the elf's hair and pulled it back so he could bite along her neckline. "I am still Astrid's." 

"So he says as he ruts with me," Elaninde chided, "and rather eagerly at that." 

"You'll never have my heart," Arnbjorn said defiantly. "That will always be Astrid's." 

"Funny," Elaninde said. She grabbed Arnbjorn's jaw so he had to look up at her. She ran her nails along his jawline before kissing him roughly with tongue and tooth, "I do not seem to care. You will continue to lay with me as you are now. Not because you particularly want to, but because you need to. Because you are a beast by nature and every dog need a master." 

 

***

"Astrid, I need to speak with you." 

The blonde woman didn't recognize the voice that just spoke, which was very strange. Normally she could tell who was approaching her by their footsteps, the clank of armor, or even their breathing.  There had been no indication anyone was in the room until the newcomer spoke. 

Astrid turned and was surprised to see Cicero standing in the doorway to the planning room. The jester was holding his cap in his hands and twisting it restlessly. Astrid almost snapped at him for interrupting her until she noticed that the Imperial's face was solemn for the first time since she had met him. 

"What is it, Keeper?" she asked suddenly feeling a need for formality. It had been the right thing to do simply for the smile of joy on Cicero's face. 

"I keep the Tenets, you know I do," Cicero insisted. "That is why I am here. They must be honored by everyone, EVERYONE! Cicero spoke with the Listener and she did not listen. So faithful Cicero speaks to Astrid." 

"Out with it," Astrid snapped. She felt nervous with Cicero acting so oddly, at least for him. Talking of the Tenets meant he was likely to speak about how she needed to swear herself to the Night Mother and Astrid had no patience for that today. "I am very busy." 

"You have been betrayed," Cicero said looking miserable. 

"By who?" Astrid whispered. Betrayal had always been her biggest fear. When she had caught Cicero whispering alone in the Night Mother's chamber, she had been unable to sleep until she had found out who his confidante was. Imagine her embarrassment when it was revealed that it was only the Night Mother and the very person she had sent to investigate had turned against her by claiming to be the fabled Listener. 

"Elaninde.," Cicero whispered. 

"I knew it!" Astrid crowed. 

"And Arnbjorn," the jester finished. 

"Get out!" Astrid yelled. She grabbed a nearby bowl and threw it at the redhead. "Get out with your lies and tricks, clown!" 

"Cicero only tells the truth, no matter how much the Pretender wishes to believe otherwise!" Cicero yelled. He danced about avoiding each object hurled at him. "If you don't believe him, then go to the forge and see for yourself!" The jester stuck his tongue out at Astrid and tumbled away laughing madly. 

Astrid followed ready to toss more items at the clown, but he was gone having fled up the stairs. Astrid turned to the downward stairs to see for herself what Cicero was babbling about. No doubt he had either misconstrued an innocent conversation or his mad mind had invented something fantastical or he was just trying her patience. 

Astrid's steps came to an abrupt halt when she came into the open area. In the forge area, on top of Arnbjorn's workbench was Elaninde. The High Elf was sitting with her head thrown back and her legs wide open. Kneeling between them was Arnbjorn licking that bitch's thighs! 

Rage coursed through Astrid as she watched her husband's infidelity. Her hand gripped her Blade of Woe ready to use it on the both of them. Logic ruled and Astrid stepped back. On wobbly legs, she managed to walk back up to the stairs to her planning room. 

Things had been perfect before that elf came to Sanctuary. Before the Keeper and the Night Mother! Why did things have to change? Astrid would make it so everything would go back to the way it was before, when she ruled and everyone followed. 

With a shaking hand, the Nord picked up a piece of paper that held the personal information of the leader of the Penitus Oculatus  Commander Maro. She would contact the man and make a deal with him. After she made sure he would be cooperative. The man had a son who was touring Skyrim to secure the Emperor's tour of the Holds. Maybe if he met an untimely death by the hands of a certain arrogant Altmer bitch, then Commander Maro would be more than willing to play ball. 

Then Astrid would be rid of the betrayer and everything would be fine again. There could be only one alpha female in this den of killers and it would be Astrid. She was willing to bet her life on it.


	3. heiwako

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite serving under a cruel Listener, Cicero find a bit of happiness. Elaninde is determined to find it and take it away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Copyright Bethesda  
> Comments appreciated  
> Warning:Non-con and abuse.  
> Sequel to Joy of Touch  
> Summary: Despite serving under a cruel Listener, Cicero find a bit of happiness. Elaninde is determined to find it and take it away from him.
> 
> Next Part: [fav.me/d5xc4cn](http://fav.me/d5xc4cn)

“Cicero has been too cheerful lately,” Arnbjorn growled. He took another huge bite of meat while watching the Keeper skipping to the main dinner table to get more fruit for the Listener. Elaninde and Arnbjorn were sitting at the small two person table that used to belong to Astrid and her husband. “I don’t like it.” 

“Me either,” Elaninde agreed. She rested her chin on her hand as she watched the Imperial chattering and giggling with the initiates. Cicero knew better than to linger and keep the Listener waiting, but that didn’t stop him from being friendly with the rest of his family as he attended to his duties. 

Elaninde’s green eyes narrowed as she careful observed Cicero’s interactions. Despite her generally selfish attitude, she was an astute onlooker. It was not possible to not learn how to read all the small ticks and tells of the people around you when you were a courtier of the Summerset Isles. Most lesser races were painfully easy to read. Simple needs and simple pleasures made them easy to bend or break. 

Cicero was…different. Elaninde hated to admit it, but the Fool of Hearts was closed to her. The jester was always smiling and laughing regardless of whether he was happy or sad. He was never shy about his dedication to the Brotherhood and the Night Mother, which should have made him easy to control. Use the Tenets and you could use the Keeper, right? 

Only it was wrong. 

The more Elaninde pushed, the more Cicero pushed back. It all started with his tattling to Astrid. She had thought that acting like Arnbjorn’s submission was part of her natural due as Listener would have made the little man back off on how she was violating a Tenet. She never believed that he actually would approach the Nord leader and let her know what was going on. 

Not that Elaninde had had any plans to hide it. She knew that sooner or later Astrid would find out, probably from Arnbjorn’s guilty conscience. The weeks of taunting the wolf, playing with him, using him had filled Elaninde with delight. The chance of being caught at any moment had sent shivers down her spine. But the little fool had cut her game short and that was unallowable. 

Cicero had always been her servant since she was named Listener, but after she became the official leader of Sanctuary, she had taken it to a new level of obedience. It wasn’t merely enough to expect him to Keep her with constant pampering. No, she meant to break him by making him do the most menial of tasks and any time he dared to complain she would bring up the Tenets. 

She loved how it galled him. The petulant looks and the moment of confusion as he mentally battled between meekly following the Tenets versus telling her off made her cackle with glee. However, Cicero drew the armor of his motley about him and played the fool in the most literal sense. Any command given had to be spoken painfully precisely because he would find ways to get around the spirit of her words while staying true to the letter. 

Elaninde was infuriated the first time it had happened. Cicero had taken her by surprise with his little trick of cleaning her room as commanded but in doing so he had rearranged all of the furniture. She still wasn’t sure how he had moved the heavy wooden pieces since no one in Sanctuary would dare help him lest they draw her disfavor too. But once she had soothed her temper the Altmer had to admit that she was also amused. It was pleasant to have a new opponent now that Astrid was dead. 

It had been regretful that Elaninde and Arnbjorn had not returned to Falkreath sooner after the Penitus Oculatus attack. Astrid must have lain there for days, the pain from the burns that covered her entire body exquisite. How Astrid must have suffered lying there – every gasp agony, the slightest breeze or movement sheer pain as well as the eventual madness from the hunger and thirst. What Elaninde would have given to have been there to witness it firsthand instead of relying on her own twisted imagination! 

It was probably for the best they had tarried. Not only did they not have to worry about being ambushed by the Emperor’s personal guards, but Elaninde would have made Arnbjorn kill Astrid with her own Blade of Woe – which was now strapped as a constant reminder on Elaninde’s hip. The look on betrayal on Astrid’s destroyed face would have been most satisfying, but the longer, more torturous death was much more appropriate than the swift end the wolf would have given his beloved wife. 

Besides, there’s always a breaking point on pushing people and that would have been Arnbjorn’s. Elaninde may not have as much desire for him now that Astrid was gone, but he was strong, loyal, and useful. Never throw away a tool that could still be used and never make a wolf wish to bite your hand. 

“Ah, great and powerful Listener!” Cicero chirped as he spun around in a pirouette with the platter of fruit. Despite her werefox blood, Elaninde preferred fruit to flesh for her meals. “Loyal Cicero has returned with a feast fit for one such as yourself!” 

“Be careful, clown,” Arnbjorn growled, “or you’ll spill something!” 

“Cicero would never drop anything!” the jester protested. The platter fell from his hands, sprawling fruit everywhere. Before it could hit the ground, Cicero snagged them from the air and started to juggle platter, apples, pears and grapes in a complicated pattern. Applause erupted from the initiates as they watched the jester’s performance. 

Elaninde ran her fingers on her lips as she thought. The very first time she had sent Cicero to his room it had been because of pretty much this exact thing. She carefully watched Cicero’s face as he spun the items in the air. Yes, just as she thought, his eyes were flickering towards her waiting for her reaction. 

“That’s enough,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “I wish to eat, not watch a show.” 

“As the Listener commands,” Cicero smirked with a bow. He took his seat on the floor by Elaninde’s feet. Those furtive glances continued. The Keeper was clever enough to not directly look at her. Instead he tilted his head and slowly slid his eyes to watch her. 

Was he gloating because she hadn’t punished him? Or…could it be that he _wanted_ to be punished? 

Elaninde decided to take a chance and do nothing in response to any of Cicero’s antics the rest of the night. No matter how much he sang or capered or otherwise drove Arnbjorn to snap at him, Elaninde left him be. 

It was just the barest of motions, but Elaninde could have sworn Cicero looked more and more frantic as time passed and he was not banished to solitary confinement. The look of relief when she finally dismissed him for the night after he had undressed and oiled her was unfeigned and expected at least. Elaninde chewed on her nail as she tried to figure out the newest enigma Cicero had given her. The threat of the darkness and loneliness had always been her greatest weapons against the Keeper. So what had changed? 

 

Cicero sighed as he entered the clean kitchen. Nothing had been left out for him as usual and he did not have permission to eat during dinner because he was supposed to be too busy serving the Listener. Even if Elaninde had been willing to allow Cicero a meal no doubt she would keep him hopping to the point he wouldn’t be able to eat anyway. 

His poor stomach grumbled loudly as he went up the stairs to the initiates’ room to get to his own private room. It was a remnant of Astrid’s era when he had been bequeathed private quarters befitting his rank as Keeper. It was probably all a façade on her behalf to keep him out of the way and away from the others, but at least it had been a nice façade unlike the sham that was Elaninde’s reign. 

The jester smiled when he saw Phoebe’s empty bed and his step quickened. She had been gone for a couple of weeks for a contract in Morthal and he had missed her terribly. When he had seen her at dinner, his grin had been wide enough to swallow an entire horker. Although he had made sure to talk to all of the initiates, it had been her he had been showing off for. 

When the Keeper opened the door to his room, he laughed when he saw all of the lit candles decorating his room. The glow was soft, but lit the room in an almost magical way. More importantly, Phoebe was sprawled on his bed, her robe falling open to reveal the swell of her breasts, the flatness of her stomach and the silken cloth of her smalls. 

“Took you long enough,” she commented when she looked up from her book. She marked her place and put her book on Cicero’s nightstand. Her hair, now shoulder length, fell forward covering her face. Cicero drank in her features as she reached up to tuck it back behind her ear. 

“Cicero tried, sweet sister,” he complained as he skipped over to the bed and kissed her on the cheek. “But Elaninde was particularly stubborn on keeping Cicero’s company. Maybe she’s finally falling for him.” 

“She better not!” Phoebe playfully growled. “You’re mine.” She jumped off the bed and motioned to the table that dominated the center part of the room. “Sit,” she commanded as she slid a covered platter to Cicero. When he pulled it off, he found a plate of tonight’s dinner waiting for him. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, afraid to say more lest he start to cry. The last time he had eaten had been in the early predawn when he was making Elaninde’s breakfast platter to deliver to her room. It was now long past midnight and the small meal had seemed forever ago. 

“I tried to keep it warm,” she apologized. Phoebe sat next to Cicero and rested her chin in her hands as she leaned on the table. “I was afraid to leave it on the fire in case someone tried to throw it away.” 

It used to be that a pot of something would be left simmering at all hours in case a sibling came in late from a contract or if someone preferred late hours or any reason really. Cicero really thought it leant to the feeling of family he used to find in Sanctuary. But one of Elaninde’s many changes had been to make food only available during meal times. Otherwise people were expected to fend for themselves and the pantry was not open for common use. That meant everyone had to hoard their own or go up to Falkreath’s inn. 

“It’s wonderful,” Cicero assured her. He grinned impishly. “Although it seems a shame to be feasting on this instead of you.” The angry growl of poor Cicero’s empty stomach belayed his comment. 

“Finish your meal and you’ll have earned your dessert, my Keeper,” Phoebe retorted. She shifted so her robe fell further open. “How can you have any pudding if you don’t eat your meat?” 

Cicero wolfed down his meal, barely tasting it despite his hunger. He had another appetite to fill!

 

Later the candles had burned low and Phoebe was curled up in the crook of Cicero’s arm. She was drowsy and quickly falling asleep as usual after their time together. She still had not allowed him to take her maidenhead, but he hadn’t asked for it either. It was such a small price for everything else she gave him so willingly. 

“You should let me say something to her,” Phoebe mumbled. “It’s not right how she treats you.” 

“Cicero agrees, but it would change nothing except the Listener would know there was someone who cared for poor Cicero,” the Keeper sighed as he smoothed back Phoebe’s hair. She had started growing it out after he had commented that he liked long hair. “She would construe to keep us apart or use you to hurt Cicero.” 

“She’s cruel.” 

“She’s Mother’s chosen,” Cicero commented. Phoebe glared, but wisely kept her mouth shut about that particular aspect of Elaninde. As the Keeper, Cicero never would have tolerated anything negative about the Night Mother despite his personal feelings for her Listener. 

Phoebe kissed Cicero and stroked his hair as her lips gently kissed him from lips to shoulder. He worried for the day would come when she would suggest that they could just leave together. There was nothing forcing them to stay here except Cicero’s loyalty to the Night Mother and his role as Keeper. If that day were to come, Cicero would have to end their relationship. But just as he did not ask her to break her one vow, she did not ask him to break his. 

“Just be careful, okay?” she said instead as she nuzzled against him. “She’s lazy but clever. Keep up what you did tonight and I won’t have to say anything.” 

 

It had been a year since the fall and resurrection of Falkreath. More importantly it had been about six months since Phoebe had come into Cicero’s life. Although she would be gone for days and weeks at a time to fulfill contracts, she made it bearable under Elaninde’s rule. Being sent to his room was never a punishment when she was in Sanctuary, but when she was gone it took everything in Cicero to not go mad. Hours passed like minutes with Phoebe to hold and kiss in the dark while minutes felt like days when Cicero was alone. 

It was best when Elaninde went out on contract, but those were few and far in-between. There was no need to risk herself when there were initiates to do it for her. She lacked for nothing since the Brotherhood always took a cut from the contracts to keep the Sanctuary running. Sometimes she would be in a mood to shop for clothes or “civilized” company which meant she craved the company of other Altmer or the Justicars of the Thalmor Embassy. 

Elaninde was the daughter of a noble in the Summerset courts and was quite welcome in the political outpost in Skyrim. She shared the Thalmor attitude of domination and control of the lesser races and had been all too eager to slay Titus Mede II when the Night Mother had commanded her to do so. 

“Tell me about them,” Phoebe asked one day when Cicero was placing flowers on the old Falkreath family members’ graves. “You visit here so often, but I know nothing about them.” 

“Festus Krex was a grumpy old spellcaster,” Cicero chuckled. “He was the first to greet Cicero when Cicero arrived. Nazir once killed twenty men by himself. Gabriella liked taking long walks in the moonlight and knitting.” He paused, hovering over Astrid’s grave. “Astrid was a Pretender. She thought she was the Mother of the family and would not accept the Night Mother as the rightful leader. She thought to kill the Listener and Cicero too. It was her betrayal that killed them all.” 

“Yet you honor her with a grave?” 

Cicero shrugged as he picked dead flowers off the Nord’s final resting place. “Cicero was not going to just leave her out for the ravens to pick at until only gleaming bone remained. She was a fool, but part of the family and Cicero never forgets one who shared Sanctuary.” 

“What about the last spot?” Phoebe asked, pointing to Babette’s memorial. “It doesn’t look like a grave like the rest.” 

“The unchild was never found,” Cicero answered. “Sweet Babette would often lure other predators to their deaths, feasting on their blood as they had feasted on the tears and fears of their young victims. She was rather good at playing the child, you see, since she never grew older than ten.” He sighed. “Cicero hates the not knowing. It reminds him of Garnag and his lie of returning.” 

Cicero had told Phoebe all about his time in Cheydinhal. How he had come to live there, the people he had met, being named Keeper, and even using the one-eyed Orc to kill Rasha for lying about being the Listener. He had not shared the Binding Words, of course, but he had not shied away from the truth of the matter. 

“Have you ever thought to look for her?” 

“How?” Cicero laughed bitterly. “Cicero is barely given time to attend to Mother, much less look for a wayward daughter of hers. Much like Cicero could not go looking for Garnag when he disappeared.” 

“Your best bet would be to go to Dragon’s Bridge,” Phoebe mused. “If the Penitus Oculatus did not kill her, they would have taken her there. The Empire is big on taking care of orphans. They would have returned her to their outpost to look for signs of her parents. Once that failed, a family might have adopted her or someone would have remembered her enough to at least let us know.” 

“The Listener and the Sheepdog killed all of the Penitus Oculatus,” Cicero reminded her. “Elaninde could not risk them finding us here again and silenced them.” 

“Yes, but she wouldn’t have bothered to look for Babette,” Phoebe countered, “and she didn’t kill the villagers. Just the men in the outpost.” She smiled. “If you like, the next time there’s a contract in Solitude or near the Dragon Bridge I’ll stop by and discretely ask around. Say I’m part of her adoptive family and we’re looking for her.” 

“You would do that for Cicero?” he asked. 

“For you I would do anything,” she said before kissing him. 

The next day she was gone. She hadn’t said goodbye, but she had left three shiny yellow stones by Babette’s memorial to indicate she thought she would be gone for three weeks. It was their simple system to avoid attention.  The different colors were for units of time - blue for days, yellow for weeks, and Sithis forbid, red for months. The number of stones determined how long she would be gone. Simple, but efficient. 

 

Two weeks passed when the Shout ripped through the air. Cicero was picking flowers for oils for Mother when the cry of “DOVAHKIIN!” rocked the world. He dropped his basket and ran back to Sanctuary to make sure the Night Mother was okay. Falkreath was in an uproar as the initiates ran amok. It seemed no one knew what was going on. 

For a moment, Cicero wished Arnbjorn was there. The werewolf would have calmed the lot with a single roar, but the Speaker had left for Riften to talk to a petitioner two days ago. Elaninde merely stood in the middle of the common area, her face passive and unreadable, while wide-eyed initiates chattered around her. When he realized no one was going to be any help at all, he ran up to the Night Mother’s chapel to check on her. Some debris had fallen from the ceiling, but that was easily cleaned up. He spent the next hour curled up next to her coffin waiting for the excitement to die down. 

Elaninde finally sent most of Sanctuary out to investigate the matter. The next several days the Listener stalked about Sanctuary. If she had a tail, it would have been lashing. Her mood was even more abrasive than usual and she insisted that Cicero wait on her hand and foot all hours of day and night. 

Cicero was in a good mood. Despite the chaos within Sanctuary, he was happy. Phoebe should be home soon. Even if she hadn’t found Babette yet, she would return in a few days as promised by her stones. It would be wonderful to hold her again. 

He shouldn’t have allowed himself to be distracted. His hands wandered as they massaged oil into Elaninde’s bare skin. He had taken off his tunic and cap because he had given the Listener a bath and had learned the hard way that it was better to place his clothes to the side than allow her to splash him and soak the material. She wouldn’t let him dry off and the last time had resulted in a chest cold so bad Elaninde actually had to let him take a few days of rest. 

The idea of a break was nice, but it was not worth being ill. Not only did Cicero have to still oil Mother, but he wanted to be well when Phoebe returned. 

A soft moan from Elaninde drew his attention back to his task. She was sprawled on her bed, completely naked and glistening in the firelight from the oil Cicero had rubbed into her skin. He hadn’t noticed the flush look to her golden skin before, the fuller swell of her breasts, the slight widening of her hips. “Listener is in heat,” he commented. 

“Yes, and Arnbjorn is nowhere to be seen,” she grumbled. Although the mage enjoyed her beast blood, she had commented that it was inconvenient at times. Apparently she went through cycles like her fox totem. Her green eyes flickered over Cicero, taking him in hungrily. “You know, you’re not that bad looking for a man when you’re not wearing that stupid outfit, my Keeper.” 

Cicero tried to not flinch when Elaninde’s hand trailed down his chest. “Come closer,” she commanded. When Cicero obeyed, she slid her hand down into his pants. He tried to not grimace as she ran her nails over his skin as she cupped his balls. “Take it off.” 

“Listener?” Cicero asked. Elaninde had never expressed any interest in him before, something Cicero had gotten progressively more grateful. There had been a time he would have offered his services if he had thought she wouldn’t have laughed at him, but he had been happy to simply serve. 

“Take your pants off,” she commanded, her voice hard and no nonsense. Cicero nervously obeyed as Elaninde laid back, her gaze raking over his body creepily. “The smalls too.” 

Any hope of Elaninde only wanting to hurt him was quickly vanishing as Cicero’s underclothes fell next to his pants. “Listener?” he whimpered, his voice barely a whisper. He drew closer to her as she beckoned him. 

Cicero hissed as Elaninde ran her hands up and down Cicero’s hips. His traitorous flesh stiffened from her touch. The Keeper had felt many things since Elaninde was named Listener – pride, joy, disappointment, fear and mostly sorrow – but he had never felt shame before. He served all of Elaninde’s needs as he had the Night Mother, but never this. 

“Cicero is unworthy!” he proclaimed as Elaninde started to stroke his growing erection. He quickly stepped away. “Loyal Cicero would gladly Keep the Listener, but not in this way.” 

“Are you telling me ‘no’?” she asked, her emerald eyes narrowing. Cicero swallowed, not sure how to proceed. 

“Cicero is not comfortable with this,” he said. His eyes flickered away from Elaninde’s cruel gaze. 

“You cannot tell me ‘no’,” Elaninde smirked as she crawled on her hands and knees so she was inches from Cicero’s face. She grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her. Her blood red hair pooled around her shoulders and fell forwards in a cascade. “Or do you not obey the Tenets anymore?” 

“Cicero always obeys!” he protested. 

“Then come here!” Elaninde cried as she jerked Cicero onto the bed. He pounced hard against the furs as he landed on his back. 

Cicero’s hands fruitlessly tried to push Elaninde away as she hovered over him. Her mouth was full of teeth as she leered over him. It was impossible to get a hold of her thanks to the oil covering her body. 

“Listener, Listener, please!” Cicero pleaded. Not this, not this. Everything else he could endure, but not this. He didn’t even get to lie with his sweet Phoebe this way, he didn’t want to give it to hateful Elaninde. 

“Stop resisting,” she hissed, sounding much too pleased. “Don’t try to stop me, Keeper.” 

“Cicero is saying no!” He would take any punishment she would mete out. Cicero finally had enough. If Elaninde was playing some sick game to break him, then fine. The bitch could win. He was not going to be used like this! 

“If you do not submit to me, then I’ll banish you from the Brotherhood,” Elaninde purred. “You’ll be stripped of your title of Keeper and it will be given to another. No one will talk to you and you’ll not be given Sanctuary. Thus is the punishment of those who defy me.” 

“Not that!” Cicero wailed. “Anything but that!” His hands fell weakly to his sides. “Cicero understands…and obeys.” 

“Of course you do,” Elaninde purred. “You always obey.” She ran her hand down Cicero’s face before slapping it sharply. “You obey, but you don’t know your place. You will one day. You will accept my superiority fully and bow without that damnable pride.” She barked with laughter. 

Cicero closed his eyes as Elaninde ran her nails down his chest. This time her sharp nails cut his skin, causing blood to well up and trail down Cicero’s body. She leaned forward and flicked her tongue against one of the wounds, tasting the blood as she straddled him. She was dripping wet as she impaled herself onto him. 

Cicero bit down on his lip as Elaninde moved against him. He might not be able to stop the tears from falling down his face, but he could at least not give the Listener the satisfaction of hearing him cry. Elaninde crushed him as her legs tightened painfully around him as she pushed her full weight down on him. 

Not nearly soon enough, she shuddered from her orgasm, practically barking with pleasure. As she fell to her side, she kicked Cicero rudely out of the bed. He landed in a heap, feeling filthy in a way killing had never made him feel bad. 

As Cicero reached for the motley, Elaninde snapped. “Leave that here. I won’t have you wearing it, not even during your own time. It’s disgraceful with all of those patches,” she declared. “As my Keeper, you will wear something fitting your position in the Brotherhood. Tomorrow we will travel to Solitude to get new garments for you.” 

“This is Cicero’s last trophy,” he said weakly. He hugged the faded velvet to his chest. “Cicero has had this a long time.” 

“And it is time to let it go,” Elaninde sniffed. “I don’t trust you with it, so place it in my dresser so I can keep any eye on it.” 

“This is mine,” he repeated. 

“Not anymore,” Elaninde said. “Don’t make me repeat myself again.” 

Cicero shuffled over to the indicated drawer and gently placed his beloved motley within. He folded it carefully and petted it one last time before he closed the drawer. It felt like closing a tomb. 

 

They returned from Solitude a week later. Elaninde had decided that she didn’t want to leave the Imperial capital once she got there. Shopping for clothes took most of her time, but she made sure to make an appearance in the Blue Palace as a cousin of the Thalmor Ambassador as well as visiting the Thalmor Embassy to catch up with other justicars. 

“We should go back sooner,” she chirped as they rode back to Falkreath. 

“As you wish, Listener,” Cicero mumbled. She had forced him to pleasure her every night. He had hoped that she would weary of it if he didn’t fight back at all. He had done his best to not vex her and to appear broken, but she was like a dog with a new chew toy – pleased and eager to destroy it. 

The only thing holding him together was the thought of Phoebe, sweet, dear Phoebe. She would definitely be back from her contract and she wouldn’t leave again without seeing him. She would let him know how the kill went and what she had found out at Dragon Bridge. He would tell her about this newest humiliation because he knew she wouldn’t judge him. She would understand that Elaninde was the monster. She would hold him and make him feel better. Help make him feel human. 

It took forever to carry all of Elaninde’s newest possessions into Sanctuary, especially since she deigned to help carry any of them. Cicero scurried as fast as possible in the incredibly uncomfortable fancy clothes she had purchased for him. They itched and pulled in the wrong way like his motely never did. 

Arnbjorn was back from Riften. “I need to talk to you about the call for the Dragonborn,” he said as a way of greeting. “As a native of Summerset Isles, I doubt you know anything about it.” 

“Fine, love,” she murmured. She led him to her bedroom. “I expected a full report anyway.” 

Cicero breathed a sigh of relief that he would finally have a moment alone. He practically flew to the initiates’ room to look for Phoebe. To his shock, her bed was made and looked empty. She rarely bothered to make it when she was in residence. 

He looked in his room and she wasn’t waiting for him. She wasn’t waiting in the kitchen or the forge or the alchemy room or even the Night Mother’s chapel. Sithis, where was she!? Cicero finally broke down and asked some of the initiates, but none of them had seen her. 

Finally, out of options, he ran outside and down the road to look for her. It was unlikely that she was on her way home from her kill because she would have ran into him and Elaninde on the road. But Cicero had to look! He had to! 

Not by the lake, not in the field where they picnicked and gathered flowers. Not by the graves. But at least there he found a sign of her. 

A new pile of stones had been placed under Babette’s memorial. They held down a piece of parchment that Cicero snagged up, his heart beating a thousand times a second. 

_Dear Cicero,_

_So much has happened since I last saw you. The good news is that no one at Dragon Bridge remembered any girl matching Babette’s description. I think that means she was not with the Penitus Oculatus when they returned from the purification of Falkreath and she left thinking everyone was dead._

_The bad news is while I was there a dragon attacked the village. I had to help them so I joined the battle against the beast. There is nothing like facing a creature that can fly, breath fire, and can speak to you as you fight it. Several guards were killed, but we took it down with minimal damage to the nearby buildings._

_When it crashed to the ground, its body erupted into golden fire and something flew out of it and into me! Some of the locals insisted that it meant I was Dragonborn, whatever that is. The dragon had been yelling “YOL!” the whole time it fought us so I tried it and FIRE flew out of my mouth. Shortly afterwards, “DOVAHKIIN!” could be heard from far in the distance but it sounded like a mighty Shout._

_I was told that it was a summons from the Greybeards. I don’t know what is going on, but I need to find out more. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you in person, but you weren’t here and I was afraid if I dallied I wouldn’t be able to go. I wish I could write to you, but where I’m going couriers don’t follow._

_I promise I’ll keep looking for Babette. And I’ll come back. I promise! I know you worry about not knowing and people not coming back. But I’ll come back no matter what._

_I love you!_

_Phoebe_

Gone! She was gone. Sweet, dear, kind lovely Phoebe was gone, gone, gone! 

The gods’ damned timing! Everything was gone now. His lover was gone. His motley! His pride. Cicero had nothing left except his role as Keeper. 

Cicero looked down at the handful of stones she had left as a rough indicator of how long she would be gone. He quietly started to chuckle which grew into a loud, mad laugh that filled the quiet Pine Forest.  He dropped his hand to his side, letting the twelve shiny stones, red like blood drops, fall to the ground.


	4. heiwako

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to Agony of Loss. It's been a year since Phoebe left to discover what it means to be Dragonborn. Cicero has long suffered at the hands of the cruel Listener Elaninde and her lapdog Arnbjorn, but all of that changes when a long lost Sister returns to Sanctuary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Copyright Bethesda   
> Comments appreciated  
> Summary: Sequel to Agony of Loss. It's been a year since Phoebe left to discover what it means to be Dragonborn. Cicero has long suffered at the hands of the cruel Listener Elaninde and her lapdog Arnbjorn, but all of that changes when a long lost Sister returns to Sanctuary.

A/N: This is the sequel to Agony of Loss. It won't make as much sense if you haven't read it.

* * *

Cicero looked up when he heard the Black Door open as it welcomed home a sibling. He schooled his face to calmness to hide the frantic beating of his heart. It had been almost a year since Phoebe had left to find out what it meant to be Dragonborn. Every time the Door whispered open, he watched, hoping it was his sweet sister, but fearing it was her too.

There was no sound as whoever entered walked down the stairwell. Not surprising. Silence was a second nature for most assassins, especially those who lived longer than others. An elongated shadow bobbed ahead, giving no indication of who it was attached to. Cicero wanted to jump up and race up the stairs to greet whoever it was, but he forced himself to stay crouched by Elaninde's side.

The Altmer mage was reclining in the throne-like chair before the table set to one side of the room. Once it had held Astrid's map of contracts, but now it was decorated with various gems and figurines from her native Summerset Isles. Impractical and useless like so many of Elaninde's pursuits.

When the figure arrived at the bottom of the stairs, Cicero lost his breath. It was not his dear Phoebe, but it was almost as good.

"I have returned," Babette stated simply. Her eyes, old and wiser than a ten-year-old had any right, flickered over Cicero, but she said nothing to him. Instead she approached the Listener and curtsied in the old Breton style. "Please forgive my prolonged absence, Listener. I had thought the Brotherhood lost and had fled for my safety. If I had realized that you," she paused, glancing at Cicero again, "or our dear Keeper had survived the Purification, I would have returned to pledge myself to the rightful leader of the Brotherhood sooner instead of hiding."

"I have wondered where you had gone," Elaninde lied. She had not cared one ounce of whether Babette had lived or died from the fire or Penitus Oculatus attack. Cicero had cared and had asked Phoebe to look for their little unchild sister. "We welcome you with open arms. Tell us where you've been all this time."

"I had been out picking flowers when the attack came," Babette said. "When I returned and found the Sanctuary in ruins, I turned east. I figured the further I was away from Imperial influence, the better. I tried Whiterun for a time, but rumors of the war coming there next were even less appealing. After a few failed attempts at finding a home to feed from as an adopt waif, I heard of a castle far to the north. A den of vampires laired there under a Lord Harkon, an ancient vampire lord. I petitioned to join them and he accepted. I think my apparent age amused him for he had never seen one like me before."

The tiny vampire shrugged as she dusted her skirt. "They were amusing for a time. There was a steady supply of blood from their cattle and I never wanted for anything. But I grew bored so once I heard that the Brotherhood was rising in power again I had to see for myself if it was true. I am so happy to see that not only have we survived, but we are thriving as well!"

"It was almost two years ago that I slayed Titus Mede II," Elaninde said, her teeth showing. "Why did you wait so long? Wasn't that proof enough we lived?"

"I had no way of knowing as I was keeping a low profile," Babette countered. "As an apparent orphan of the war, I was not going to be asking about the murder of the Emperor. The Volkihar Clan had not spoken to outsiders in centuries. It is a very isolated place. I think it would suit you, Listener, with its lovely old castle surrounded by the sea."

"If they are so isolated, then how did you hear about us again?" Elaninde demanded, sounding more suspicious.

"Lord Harkon's prodigal daughter returned to him and she brought a friend," Babette explained. "One of our sisters had heard rumors of vampires and thought to find me there. It was so clever of you to send someone to look for me."

"Of course," Elaninde smirked. She glanced at Cicero to see if he would call her out on her lie, but he remained silent. "We are a Family and we must watch out for one another."

"Always," Babette agreed. She yawned. "If you do not mind, I have had a long trip. I could not always travel at night and the sun drains me so. I suppose my old room is not still available? I would like to rest."

"It is not currently, but given your age and status in the Brotherhood, we can have it ready for you tomorrow. In the meantime, I am sure Cicero would not mind giving up his room until then. Isn't that right, Cicero?"

"As the Listener commands," Cicero murmured, nodding his head in obedience.

"Excellent," Elaninde purred. She waved her hand in dismissal. "Help Babette with her things."

Cicero fairly leapt from his place to grab Babette's things. "This way, sister," he said as he hurried to lead her away.

Babette followed the small Imperial as he walked to his room. She was unsurprised that it barely looked lived in. "How long?" she asked once they were finally alone. "How long has Elaninde been sexually abusing you? Phoebe spoke none of it to me."

The Keeper did not look like the man Babette remembered in the slightest. There was no hint of laughter or song on his lips. He was still, too still, especially compared to the capering man he once was. His frame was skeletal and the fancy clothes, measured for his exact fit, hung loosely on his frame. Babette could make out hints of bruises and scars around the edges of his collar and wondered how much of his body they covered.

"Why would the unchild say such a thing?" Cicero tittered nervously. He rubbed his hands over his arms, almost hugging himself.

"There is no need to lie to me, Keeper," Babette said gently. She started to place her hand on Cicero's arm, but thought better of it. Victims of abuse were typically skittish to touch. Instead she sat on the bed and gestured for Cicero to do the same. "I have spent more than two centuries hunting sexual predators. They are my preferred victims. I know the signs of one as well as the signs of their prey. The minute I walked into the room I knew."

"Phoebe didn't know," Cicero admitted as he joined Babette. "She couldn't have. It started after she left." His hand moved to cover his mouth, another victim's gesture to help keep in any screams. Tears silently fell down his cheeks as he remembered. "Please tell Cicero that she'll be home soon. Please." When Babette shook her head, he asked, "Then did she at least have a message for sweet Cicero?"

"No," Babette repeated. Cicero looked at her suspiciously but did not challenge her on it. There may have once been a time when he would have, but not now. Not after Elaninde. "I really do want to rest," she said.

"Of course!" Cicero said, jumping off the bed. He bowed deeply. "If the unchild has need of anything, she has but to ask."

"I will," she promised with a sharp tooth smile. As soon as Cicero left, Babette scrambled off the bed and headed towards her old room.

She needed to go to Falkreath and now. She couldn't use the front entrance, not with Elaninde ruling from the entrance room and Cicero dogging her heels. But every good Sanctuary had multiple exits and Babette knew about the one her tiny stone room hid.

As she slipped into the cramped tunnel, she thought of the message Phoebe had given her for Cicero. " _Tell him that I might not be able to come back. I know I promised him, but I must face Alduin soon. There is no promise that I'll survive and it is all too likely that I won't. Tell him…tell him I love him and he will be the last thing I think of if I do die. I just don't want Cicero to wait for me if I'm dead. It's too cruel after everything he has been through."_

There was no way in the Void Babette was going to deliver that particular message. Not after what she had seen. She had partly agreed to come back because she had grown bored with the Volkihar Clan, but she had also been asked by Phoebe to watch over Cicero while she was gone. Babette had been told about how much Elaninde bullied the Keeper and had been prepared for that. She had not been prepared for this. And frankly it was too big a problem for her to handle on her own. Phoebe was going to need to know and decide what to do from there.

* * *

"Dragonborn, there is a courier here for you," Delphine said.

Phoebe looked up from her meditations in from of Alduin's bane – the large mural of when Dragonrend had been created and used against the dragon god back in the old times. She picked up her katana from its resting place on her lap and sheathed it before standing up. "What does he want?"

"He says he has a message for your eyes only," Delphine shrugged. "He bears the proper courier seals, so I believe he's sincere."

Phoebe followed the Blade Grandmaster down the stairs to the area outside that hosted the blood seal. Only the blood of a Dragonborn could open the seal. It had only taken a few drops of Phoebe's to solve the final obstacle to Sky Haven Temple.

The courier stood nervously next to the blood seal, completely unaware of the significance of the swirling patterns in the ground. Phoebe was impressed that he had made it up here alone. There was a Forsworn camp nearby and they would not recognize the standard rules of hospitality and neutrality to messengers.

"Who sent you?" Phoebe asked gently. No sense making the man more nervous, but she needed to know. Not many were aware of her presence here.

Obviously there were Esbern and Delphine, the two remaining Blades. She had met Delphine after the Greybeards had sent her to retrieve Jurgen Windcaller's horn. The Breton had gotten to the horn first and left a note for whoever came for it. After proving she was Dragonborn by absorbing the soul of a dragon, Delphine had explained that dragons were coming back to Nirn.

Phoebe had returned to High Hrothgar long enough to return the horn and let Arngeir know about the dragons. He had been upset about her interactions with the Blades, but she had decided to leave the tranquility of the Throat of the World to train her martial abilities with the Blades to learn how to fight dragons better. She had felt like a fake with the peaceful pacifist Greybeards so any reason to leave had been a relief. An assassin had nothing to learn from them.

Given that they received supplies only rarely from kind pilgrims, it was unlikely that the Greybeards had sent a message to her. That left only one other option.

"I don't know," the courier admitted. "She was a little girl. About so high," he held a hand at hip level. "Had brown hair. Breton by the looks of her."

"Babette," Phoebe groaned.

After finding the small vampire in Volkihar Castle, they had traveled for about a day and a half together south before parting ways as Phoebe went further west and Babette continued south to Falkreath. They had not known each other for long, but Phoebe was given the impression that Babette was a lot older and wiser than her face would imply. What could have caused her to send a letter and so soon?

Phoebe blanched when she read the note. It had to be bad. There were only two words:

_Come home._

* * *

"And that is the gist of it," Babette finished. She played with her empty cup, running her finger along the rim. "I have had to draw a few conclusions since Cicero is understandably being pretty closed mouthed on the matter, but I highly doubt I am far off on any of them."

When Phoebe had returned to Sanctuary, Elaninde and Cicero were gone on yet another clothes expedition to Solitude. The vampire child had been glad to have a quiet moment with no chase of interruption as she explained what had happened while the Imperial had been gone.

The two females were in Cicero's old room sitting at the table. A pot of tea sat between them, long cold after Babette's tale. Phoebe clenched her hands in her lap as she stared to the side.

"Nothing to say?" Babette asked lightly.

"I have plenty to say," Phoebe growled, her eyes flashing. "I'm just too angry to get the words out."

"Do not blame yourself," Babette advised. "You were not the one who hurt him. From what little Cicero was willing to tell me, you were the only person who was kind to him. You were the only one who saw the person and not just the pet Keeper of the Listener."

"But I should have known she wouldn't be happy with just trying to humiliate him!" Phoebe protested, tears in her eyes. "I knew how she ran him into the ground and how she barely gave him time to eat or do anything he wanted. I knew that she didn't respect him or what he had given up for the Brotherhood! And I left him alone with her knowing what kind of monster she was!"

"You are focusing on the problem and not the solution," Babette said.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning what are you going to do about this?" Babette sighed. "Cicero will not leave and you will not leave without him this time. But you cannot stay here watching out for him all the time. Even if you could find a way to turn Elaninde's sadistic nature to some other pursuit, you still need to go back out there and be the Dragonborn. The Listener is the highest ranked member of the Brotherhood so it is not as if you could appeal to a higher power."

Phoebe rubbed her chin as she thought. "There's one higher power," she said. "I'll just present my case to her."

* * *

Cicero leaned forward in his saddle to see if he could get a better view of the Black Door. He was eager to get home. Surely Phoebe was finally back! The unchild had been back almost two weeks when Elaninde had declared she was going to Solitude. Cicero had wanted to stay, but could think of no acceptable reason. He had oiled Mother the night before and no one was allowed in her sanctum without him. More often than not the Night Mother's chapel was locked from prying eyes, but it saddened Cicero that no one could bask in her terrible glory as she deserved.

"Why are you so eager to be home?" Elaninde demanded. She was riding next to Arnbjorn while Cicero was slightly ahead of them. "You have been acting odd ever since Babette returned." Acting odd meaning he hadn't been moping every second of every day.

"Cicero misses Mother," he said vaguely.

Elaninde would have pushed Cicero on the matter, but her attention was diverted by the large group of assassins standing in a group in the meeting room. "What is the meaning of this?" she asked. "Why are all of you here?

"Sorry, Listener," a Khajiit said, her tail slashing from side to side. "We were asked to wait here."

"By whom?" the Altmer asked, her eyes narrowing. She clearly did not like someone else asserting authority even if she was gone.

As Elaninde demanded to be told what was going on, Cicero did a quick survey of the gathered group. There were a good dozen assassins and as far as he could tell it was the entire Sanctuary in one place. Normally there was only a handful of the Family in at a time.

"I did. I called them all in, Listener," Babette said suddenly. She was standing at the top of the stairs that led to the training area. "It is important that all of the Night Mother's children be present during times of great change."

"What does that mean?" Arnbjorn growled.

Babette mysteriously smiled and beckoned them all to follow before retreating downstairs. Elaninde and Arnbjorn shared suspicious glances before warily trailing behind the Breton. Cicero dogged Elaninde's steps, but he wanted to sprint ahead. The only Family member missing was Phoebe! Whatever was happening was her doing!

"Did you know that there is another rank in the Brotherhood?" Babette said conversationally as she walked. "It is not very common knowledge because only the Black Hand is supposed to know about it. Traditionally there are four Speakers and a Listener. Four fingers and a thumb if you will. Each Speaker employees a special protégé to perform unsavory tasks for him in times of betrayal and doubt. They were known as Silencers and they were the most deadly of the Night Mother's children. Even the Tenets had no sway over them for they were used for the Purifications of Sanctuaries when necessary. Of course, you had no way to know any of this. It's not like you have been around that long in the Brotherhood or had any reason to research more about the old traditions. You keep the Old Ways, but in word only."

By this point Babette had reached the center of the main room that housed the training area, the forge and the waterfall. She spun and pointed an accusing finger at Elaninde. "Elaninde, you have not kept the Tenets! You have not honored the Night Mother as you should have as her first child! You have mocked the Keeper and by extension you have mocked the Unholy Matron. You are judged as unworthy of the title of Listener and will forfeit all rights and privileges associated with the title. If you leave now, you will be granted your life for your service, no matter how petty it may have been. What say you in your defense?"

Elaninde laughed long and cruelly. "Arnbjorn here could rip you head off as easily as a fly's," she sneered.

"Order it and it will be done," the werewolf growled.

"You're much too small and weak to do anything to us, vampire," Elaninde sniffed. "You may be old, but to an Altmer you are still a child. I suppose you are going to be the one to evacuate me, child?" she sneered.

"No, but I will," answered a female voice. Phoebe stood tall and proud in her dragon scale armor at the top of the stairs that lead to the Night Mother's chapel.

"Bright and brilliant, indeed," Cicero whispered, a smile growing on his face.

With the light from the red stained glass reflecting off her multi-colored dragon scales, she looked like the Wrath of Sithis herself. At her side was a Blade's katana made of some sort of bone instead of the traditional folded metal. "I have prayed to the Night Mother and this is the answer given to me. You're a disease, Elaninde, and I will remove you in whatever means necessary."

"Surely you don't claim that the Night Mother has spoken to you," Elaninde scoffed. "I am the Listener! She speaks only to me!"

"Is she speaking to you now? Has she warned you of what was going to happen? Did you whisper anything to prepare you for this revolution? Because I prayed that if she found you lacking to answer with her silence and it appears that she's answered in my favor!"

"I tire of this," Elaninde said. "Someone kill her. You!" She pointed at one of the Orc Brothers. "Slay her."

The chosen assassin nodded before drawing a pair of Daedric daggers. He charged Phoebe with a mighty battle cry. Phoebe coolly watched him advance. At the last moment, she quick drew her katana and sliced off both arms as well as a diagonal cut across the Orc's skull causing it to fly free of the Orc's head. It landed pointed up like a bowl and rocked several times before coming to a bloody stop.

"I will kill anyone who attacks me!" Phoebe promised. She flicked her sword to clean it of the blood before resheathing it. "I have not been idle this last year I have been gone," she said, sweeping her gaze over the room. "I have been hunting dragons! Do you think you compare at all to those legendary beasts?"

A loud whisper ran the through the room as the Brotherhood reacted to Phoebe's claim. Cicero saw a combination of shocked and disbelieving looks. Arnbjorn growled, but Elaninde was expressionless. To anyone else she would look like she was on the verge of boredom, but Cicero knew that look meant that she was seething inside. Well, good!

"Ten thousand septims to whomever brings me her head!" Elaninde declared.

This was enough to convince three more to try their luck. They darted forward ready to dogpile the small Imperial so she could be taken easier. Phoebe dodged among them until they were all facing her. Once they were in a small cone, she Shouted, " **YOL TOOR SHUL!"** A gout of flame engulfed all of them leaving them charred corpses. While she was recovering from her Shout, Arnbjorn changed into a werewolf and closed into melee with her.

He roared, spittle flying everywhere, as he swiped his six inch long claws in a rapid swings. Phoebe fell back, holding up her katana to block Arnbjorn's attacks. His claws created sparks as they scraped across the bone blade.

"You don't have to do this!" Phoebe begged.

"She's my Alpha," the werewolf growled. "I gave up Astrid for her. Do you really think I would choose you over her?"

"Kill her, kill her, kill her!" Elaninde screamed, her voice high like a fox.

"You would choose the Night Mother, your rightful mistress, was my hope," Phoebe hissed. She managed to cut Arnbjorn deeply across his chest, but the wound immediately started to heal.

"No matter how sharp your bone blade may be," Arnbjorn laughed deeply, "my beastblood will heal it."

"One cut may not be enough, but what about a thousand?" Phoebe asked. **"SU GRAH DUN!"** Swirls of wind covered her arms and her strikes were even faster than ever. Instead of wide swinging strokes, Phoebe was making many jabs. Arnbjorn tried to retreat, howling as he went, but Phoebe dogged his steps not relenting.

Cuts appeared all over the werewolf's fur, soaking the coarse hairs in blood. Arnbjorn tried his best to claw or bite the Dragonborn, but she was faster than he. Finally, Phoebe hamstrung him, causing Arnbjorn to fall to his knees. He gave one final howl that was cut short when she lopped his head off at the neck.

"Who's next?" she growled, still in a crouched position with the katana.

Elaninde's eyes swept the remaining Brotherhood to see who she could send, but she didn't like what she saw. The survivors were backing away slowly as to not draw attention. The Khajiit who had talked to Elaninde earlier said, "This one thinks it is time for the great and powerful Listener to show her worth. It is one thing to kill an unsuspecting victim. Can you handle a foe who seeks your death?"

"I abhor getting my hands dirty," Elaninde sniffed. She threw her red cloak to the floor as she stepped forward. "I had thought Arnbjorn had picked a better crop of killers, but I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to have a lackluster lot given his previous group." She flexed her fingers as she grinned evilly. "You will regret challenging me, child."

"We'll see," Phoebe said, taking a different stance. She was now leaning with her sword behind her. "Let's see if your bite is as big as your bark, bitch."

"I am one of the Altmer," Elaninde bragged. "We defeated your pathetic Empire thirty years ago with hardly any effort. What is one Imperial compared to a nation?"

"When you fight the Dragonborn, you don't fight a single person," Phoebe smirked, "you fight an army."

**"FUS-"**

Before Phoebe could finish her Shout, Elaninde threw up a protective ward.

**"-RO DAH!"**

The Unrelenting Force Shout ripped over the mage, but it did not touch her or Cicero behind her spell. Several other siblings were caught in the aftermath and thrown back against the far wall. Phoebe gave a mighty "KIAI!" and charged Elaninde as she swung her katana at the elf.

Elaninde jumped back with one arm still raised to maintain the warding spell while her other hand glowed with lightning. She released the bolt at Phoebe, who leapt out of the way, causing her to miss her swing.

"You think I haven't had to dodge all sorts of fire, lightning, and ice this last year?" Phoebe challenged.

"You think I haven't destroyed a dozen like you?" Elaninde countered. "I lived for decades in the Aldmeri Dominion courts dealing with backstabbing, political or otherwise. I lived long before your grandparents ever kissed and I'll live longer than your own grandchildren."

"You might be surprised," Phoebe scoffed. She came in low on Elaninde's right and thrust her sword hard against the barrier. It shuddered from the force of her blow, but still protected the caster behind it.

"Getting frustrated yet, Imperial?" Elaninde taunted.

"A little," Phoebe admitted. She shifted to an overhead two-handed posture. "But you have to run out of magicka sooner or later and then you're mine!"

"I never run out of magicka," Elaninde laughed. She dropped the ward and ducked into Phoebe's reach. Before the Dragonborn could react to her sudden move, Elaninde overcharged a fireball in both hands and jammed it into Phoebe's chest. A loud "boom" filled the air as Phoebe was thrown smoking back into the waterfall.

The mage paused as Phoebe sputtered water and struggled to stand. "Pathetic little human," she snickered. She threw her arms open in a wide gesture. "You thought you were going to fight a weak spellcaster, but instead you face a master."

"Your ward does you no good if you can't cast it in time," Phoebe growled. " **WULD!"** She blurred as she sprinted towards the Listener. Elaninde gasped, but she was unable to put her spell back up in time.

Phoebe suddenly stopped when Cicero jumped between the two women, the tip of her blade stopping barely a hair's width from his neck. His arms were thrown open similar to how Elaninde had hers, but his in a gesture of protection instead of pride.

"Why?" Phoebe whispered. Every nerve in her body was screaming to kill him and finish the job of the Altmer before she could get her defenses back up. "Why are you protecting her? I thought you hated her more than I did!"

"Cicero is loyal," he answered, his voice so low Phoebe could barely hear him. "Cicero follows the Tenets. If he does not, what is he but nothing?" Tears trailed down his face as he looked away in shame. "Cicero looked and looked for a Listener for so long, he cannot stand by and let this one die. She is a terrible person and treats poor Cicero like he is less than nothing, but she is Mother's chosen. Cicero will not fight sweet Phoebe, but he can't stand idly by. Cicero can't wait another thirteen years for Mother to pick a new Listener." He finally looked at Phoebe, desperation in his eyes. She could see if she were to kill him, he would thank her for the final release of the Void. "Cicero is sorry."

"Isn't there anything I can say to change your mind?" Phoebe asked, steeling herself for the only answer her Keeper could give.

"No," Cicero chuckled. "The only words that would sway Cicero have already been spoken by another."

Phoebe sighed as she sheathed her sword. "I could never hurt you, my Keeper." She ignored Elaninde's taunting laugh. She had come here to free her friend, not bury him. She would have killed anyone else. She would have killed an entire Hold for him.

Fire crackled in Elaninde's hands as she prepared an incinerate spell. Phoebe closed her eyes, ready for the end when she felt Cicero's arms around hers. "Together at least?" he asked.

"I could consider nothing else a higher honor," Phoebe smiled. She started to lean forward to kiss Cicero one last time when she paused. She looked up at the stained glass window above the waterfall that connected the Night Mother's sanctum.

"Move or die, Cicero," Elaninde warned him. "I have no qualms against killing you if you stand with this traitor."

Before he could answer, Phoebe whispered in his ear. The Keeper's eyes widened as he slowly stepped away from the Dragonborn. Elaninde's cruel smile widened as she charged her strongest spell. Let the fool watch his lover burn.

The words of incantation were on her lips when Cicero spun on his heel and sank his ebony dagger into her gut. The spell died in her hands as she gasped. Elaninde could not speak, she could barely grunt, as Cicero twisted his knife in her liver. She crumpled to her knees, looking up at the Keeper.

Hers eyes were full of "Why?" while his gaze burned with the satisfaction of watching his nemesis kneel before him. She mouthed the words, no sound given to them as the pain ran through her body. Blood red nails weakly trailed down Cicero's forearms as she attempted to scrabble for purchase.

Cicero's only answer was to smile as he pulled the bloody knife out with an audible "pop". He flipped it in his hand so he could hold it in a downward position as his other hand grabbed Elaninde's chin. It seemed only fitting to take the bitch's tongue first before moving on to other acts of vengeance.

Phoebe moved past Cicero and Elaninde, drawing the attention of the room to her. She invoked enough of the thu'um to make her words heard by everyone and to make sure no one would miss the lesson given this night.

"Elaninde has been dethroned as Listener. She is no longer part of the Brotherhood. If any of you have a problem with this, you are free to leave with no further repercussions. Her reign is over and things are going to change around here. The life you've been used to, for good or ill, is over. Now go and give the Keeper his privacy."

The remaining assassins looked uncomfortably at each other as their former leader was slowly being sliced and diced before them. It was clear many of them were thinking that they could try to step forward to help Elaninde; she wasn't so badly hurt that she couldn't be healed. It was also just as clear none of them cared enough to risk their own skin for her.

In ones and twos they left the main room. Some went retreated to the kitchen or the initiates' room, probably to gossip about what had happened, while the rest went outside to return to whatever pursuits they had been dragged away from. Finally, only Phoebe, Babette, Cicero and Elaninde remained.

The Altmer's screamed were muffled and garbed after Cicero had cut out her tongue. He kept a constant pressure on her stomach with his boot as he exacted his revenge on her. Let her feel the pain he had felt, let her know the helplessness, let her be in agony as long as her body would last, hoping against bitter hope something would change enough for her to survive.

"Keeper, when you're finished, clean up here and meet me in your room," Phoebe commanded as she stepped around the bloody mess. Cicero nodded, not looking up from his task. "When you're done with her body, place her heart before the Night Mother's shrine."

She followed words to action and left the training area for the stairs that would lead to the Night Mother's chapel on the side that connected with Babette's room.

"What did you say to him?" the vampire child asked as she scurried along. "What made Cicero change his mind?"

"I said the only words that matter," Phoebe said. "I said the Binding Words." She wouldn't repeat them for anyone else. They were for her and the Keeper only. _Darkness rises when silence dies._

* * *

It was late when Cicero finally came to his room. Phoebe had been waiting for hours and had passed the time mostly by reading. He had been deadly silent when he entered the room and Phoebe only sensed him after months of learning how to sense the living dead.

She had been prepared for him to be covered in blood from head to toe, but Cicero had always been meticulous. There was some blood on his hands and a spray on his face, but otherwise the Keeper was clean. He looked tired, but there was vitality in his eyes that had been missing before.

"Hey," she said gently, closing her book. She moved to stand, wincing as she bent forward.

"You're hurt," Cicero said, darting to be by her side.

"Well, I did take a fireball to the gut," she joked, one eye squinted shut in pain.

"How did you survive that?" Cicero asked as he nudged for her to lie back on the bed. "Not that Cicero isn't grateful, but Cicero saw you burn those siblings to a crisp and that was from a distance."

Phoebe chuckled and winced even from that. "Paarthurnax taught me a special meditation for the Fire Breath Shout. It makes my own Shout more powerful while making me more resistant to other sources of flame. And," she shrugged, "I made sure that all of my armor is enchanted against fire, ice, and lightning. You know since I fight dragons."

"Clever girl," Cicero said. "It must be scary to fight those things."

"Not as scary as the thought of losing you," Phoebe whispered.

Cicero moved to touch her hair, but he stopped when he noticed the blood on his hands. "Cicero should clean up."

"There is some warm water by the fire," Phoebe pointed to a pot by the brazier. "I also have some food for you. And most importantly of all," she grinned as she pointed to Cicero's dresser, "something to change into when you're done."

The jester's motley, recovered from Elaninde's room, was waiting for him. It was folded, albeit a bit messily. Cicero sighed happily as he hugged the outfit to his chest. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you for everything."

Phoebe couldn't think of anything to say, so she just smiled and nodded. A comfortable silence settled between them as Cicero quickly cleaned up. It was dark in the room, but it was impossible to miss the multitude of scars and bruises crisscrossing over his body. Some of them were older than others. Some scars were faded and barely noticeable while others were fresh. Some bruises were purpling while others were yellowish.

"If I had seen those, I wouldn't have bothered trying to talk to her," Phoebe growled. "I would have just jumped that bitch the moment I saw her."

"Cicero is glad you didn't," he said as he settled his cap on his head. Phoebe thought he looked real for the first time since she had returned. It had felt like she had seen some sort of doppelganger when Cicero had entered the room behind Elaninde.

He settled on the bed next to Phoebe after he picked up the covered platter. He took a few bites, but mostly he just sat there playing with the food.

"Not hungry?"

"Cicero doesn't want much of anything anymore," Cicero admitted. "There didn't seem much point. Anything Cicero cared about, Elaninde took away. Except Mother. She never tried that. At least not directly." He sighed. "Cicero thinks she had hoped that he would give up, quit being Keeper, leave the Brotherhood. It would have been her final victory."

The silence returned, but it was much more uncomfortable this time. Cicero scowled as he stirred his food aimlessly. Phoebe hated how still and quiet he was now. She missed his laughter and songs.

"Falced Siruliulus is the head of a traveling circus," Phoebe said suddenly. "One day he is approached by a Breton man who is dragging three creatures behind him – a tamed sabre-cat, a miniature spriggan, and the biggest, ugliest, foulest smelling horker he's ever seen. The Breton says, 'I hear you have a slot in your show and I'm hoping you'll be interested in one of my oddities.'

"Falced looks over the creatures, but his eyes are drawn back time and time again to the horker. It has the longest, most yellow tusks he's ever seen. Its mustache is the thickest he's ever seen. Its flesh is thick as armor and covered with bristles. 'What do you want for the horker?' he asks.

"'That's not a horker!' he says to the man, 'That's my wife!'"

For a long moment, Cicero stared at Phoebe in shock. She started to wonder if she had misjudged the idea of a joke when the redhead threw his head back and started to laugh as loud as possible. He hunched over and slapped his kneed as he screamed with laughter. "Oh, I love that one," Cicero said when he finally got his breath back. He looked at Phoebe critically. "When was the last time your bandages were changed?"

"About four hours ago," Phoebe said, amused by his sudden change in demeanor. She started to shrug and changed her mind. "I guess I should find Babette and have her change them."

"Cicero will change it," he insisted. He darted out of the room before Phoebe could get up and was back shortly with Babette's first aid supplies. "Lift your shift."

Phoebe smiled at his bossy nature, but did as commanded. She had to move slowly and hissed quite a bit as the skin pulled, but she did manage to hike her sleeping gown up over her hips with a little help from Cicero.

Cicero removed his gloves before tugging off the bandages. The flesh underneath was cracked and burned in an almost starburst shape. "Imagine how bad it would have been if you had been the slightest bit less protected," he murmured as he ran his fingers over the angry skin. "You'll need at least a week to recover and even then you won't be a full strength. Definitely none of that jumping around you did tonight. That will have to wait months at least."

"That feels good," Phoebe sighed as she relaxed under Cicero's touch. She frowned at Cicero's words. "Unfortunately, I don't have that long. I was on my way to capture a dragon using an ancient trap in Dragonsreach. Odahviing, Alduin's right hand dragon, should come when I call his name. I will bind him and force him to tell me where the dragon god is."

"Not in this condition," Cicero tsked as he wrapped the new bindings around Phoebe's waist. "The Listener will need to heal first." The title hung awkwardly between them for a moment before Cicero turned to put the extra bandages away. "It's true. You are the Listener. You said the Binding Words. The only way that Mother could communicate with poor, sweet Cicero. It doesn't matter what Elaninde was or how she acted. You'll do a better job of it, Cicero knows."

"I have to defeat Alduin first," Phoebe insisted. "He plans on destroying everything and I will not allow that. Not only do I happen to like living, but it would steal souls away from Sithis. We can't allow that, now can we?"

"No, no, no," Cicero agreed. "That wouldn't do at all." He tilted his head to the side. "It seems to Cicero that he must serve Mother and the best way to serve Mother would be to assist the Listener in her contract."

"You want to come with me?" Phoebe asked. When Cicero nodded, she smiled. "You would do that for me? Help me kill a dragon?"

"For you, Cicero would do anything. For you, Cicero would help you kill a god," he clarified. "We must make sure you come home safe and sound and more or less in one piece. Cicero does not think he could handle waiting for yet _another_ Listener. There have been too many as is."

Phoebe yawned. She was tired after such a long and stressful day. It felt good in Cicero's bed with him next to her, gently petting her long hair. She curled up in the curve of his arm. "We'll talk about it more tomorrow," she mumbled as she drifted to sleep.

Cicero hugged her gently, enjoying her warmth and the sweet smell of her hair. The thought of running under the open sky, searching for a contract, getting to kill again after so long thrilled him, especially when he thought of his shining, brilliant Listener by his side. He pressed his lips against her ear and whispered, "Let's kill someone."

They were going to have so much fun!


End file.
